


Getaway Green

by PandorasBox (AdriannaRhode)



Category: NCT (Band), Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Camboys, Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Chris Bang is a Sub, Complete, Dom Drop, Dom/sub, Drag Queens, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Happy Ending, M/M, Mark Lee is a Sub, Miscommunication, Multi, Sex Positive, Sub Drop, Trixie and Katya References, anaheim really is a shithole i'm sorry, assumptions making an ass out of johnny suh, bang chan you too stay away, beach trip episode, big matthew please never read this, chris bang and mark lee are BEST FRIENDS, even more found family, except for one person and you'll see who, gratuitous OC living inside jokes, hooking up in public places, jerking off your best friend, so fucking much found family, terrible communication actually, there's sex okay they're camboys, we love and respect all sex workers in this house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:40:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 38,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25911487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdriannaRhode/pseuds/PandorasBox
Summary: They aren’t dating, contrary to what a lot of their friends and acquaintances thought at first. They’re not even fucking, save the occasional on-camera collab. They’re just friends, best friends with something very strange in common.But as Mark climbs out of the shower to the smell of baking brownies and the sound of Chris’s stupid high-pitched laugh at the TV, he thinks it’s pretty alright, what they have now.(NCT x Stray Kids Camboy AU)
Relationships: Bang Chan/Matthew Kim | BM, Han Jisung | Han/Hwang Hyunjin, Lee Felix/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas, Mark Lee/Suh Youngho | Johnny, Matthew Kim | BM/Suh Youngho | Johnny, Past Han Jisung | Han/Lee Felix, Past Han Jisung | Han/Seo Changbin
Comments: 46
Kudos: 250





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This...got out of hand. 
> 
> My best friend and I were fucking around, thinking of AU's, as you do. And we thought...what if our emotional support kpop boys (mine, Bang Chan, and hers, Mark Lee) were camboys and also best friends? And roommates? And then this was born. Yep.
> 
> Title after the song of the same name by All Time Low.
> 
> _"we were getaway green in a world of black and white, getaway green like the Costa Mesa traffic lights"_

~ 🍒 Mark 🍒 ~

The first grocery shop for a new home is sacred. 

Mark goes by himself, just to savor the experience. He heads out to Trader Joes without a list, letting himself hungry-shop and throw anything that looks good into the shopping cart. It’s not the most responsible or efficient way to shop, but it is the most fun. That’s why he ends up pulling into his designated parking space in front of his ridiculously new, beautiful apartment building with a trunk full to bursting with bags. 

The apartment complex is very new, very expensive, and patrolled by cranky guards in golf carts, a capitalist nightmare that would drive Mark crazy if it wasn’t so gorgeous and comfortable. It’s the kind of place Mark never thought he could live, sandwiched right in the middle of the highest-income part of Irvine. He’s come into some money recently, more steady money than he’s ever had in his life. As soon as they realized they could afford for it, Mark and his best friend/new roommate picked out the apartment of their dreams. Designated covered parking spaces and all.

Like any red-blooded young man with an ego, Mark knows he can make it inside carrying all the shopping bags in one trip. He loads up both arms, props his reusable bags on top of each other in a precarious stack, and has to shut the trunk of his beat-up old car using his head, which kind of sucks. 

But he makes it to the front door, in the door (which is not locked – why bother? Mark’s roommate is home), and all the way to the kitchen without dropping anything. It’s the little things in life. 

Little things like ravioli. Mark digs his package of honey roasted pumpkin ravioli, a top-tier Trader Joes purchase, out of one of the bags and sets it on the counter. If he’s gonna enjoy this moment, he needs music and ravioli. He heads back through the living room and toward his room to retrieve his Bluetooth speaker. 

The other bedroom door is wide open, and Mark glances in as he passes, ready to call a hello to his roommate. 

“Hey Chr- oh Jesus fucking Christ, oh my _god!_ ” 

Mark’s roommate, Chris, is sitting on the floor in front of his bed, propped up on an enormous pink throw pillow. He’s bare-ass naked from the waist down, slim legs peeking from under a huge oversized black tee, which in itself isn’t that bad. Sometimes people don’t wear pants in their own house, it happens. But he’s also got a pale-pink glittery crystal toy that he’s working into his ass like he’s being paid to do it. 

Which, he is. Being paid, that is. He’s on cam, Mark sighs, right now. Right in front of him. 

“Oh hey,” Chris says, peering out at Mark, showing an incredible amount of focus considering the activity at hand, “My roommate’s home. You guys know Cherry. Say hi!” 

That last part is delivered to his phone camera, which is held innocently on a bendable tripod in front of Chris, aimed down to catch the action. Mark isn’t in frame, but he can hear a sudden rush of the telltale ‘ding!’ of donors and comments just from Chris mentioning him. 

“Please, I want no part of this,” Mark says, ducking into his room and willing himself not to look anymore. “I hate you.” 

“They want you – ah – to come on cam,” Chris reports shakily. 

“I am making ravioli,” Mark insists. 

“Sick, make me some and come on cam.” 

“You are literally six inches deep into your ass,” Mark whines. “Plus, I stream on Friday and Saturday nights, those ingrates we call fans already know that.” 

Chris pouts so dramatically that Mark can see it in his peripherals as he scrambles around his room, looking for that fucking speaker. He just needs to find it and he can escape to safety. Somewhere normal, with no slutty roommates.

“Your old pal @Johrista wants you online, CherryBomb, come on in here,” Chris singsongs, putting a bothersome amount of emphasis on using Mark’s camming nickname. 

It’s embarrassing how quickly Mark’s cheeks heat up when he hears that username. It’s a good thing Chris can’t see him. 

“ _Berry,_ ” Mark says, sarcastically mimicking Chris’s tone as he drops Chris’s stupid cam name instead of his real name, “I am literally not coming in there until your pants are back on and your boner is gone.” 

“Killjoy,” sniffs Chris, and his bedroom door slams shut. 

Mark finds the speaker, finally, behind a box on his dresser, and heads back toward the kitchen, pointedly ignoring the overexaggerated sex noises coming from Chris’s room. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, but even Mark likes a little warning before he walks in on someone all stretched out on camera like that. 

Chris is a camboy. So’s Mark, to be fair. They’re both camboys. 

But Chris is shameless, even as far as sex workers go. Which is firmly against his shy, submissive camboy persona, but whatever. It’s because he’s been at it longer, Mark thinks. Even if his long game is being a sub bottom twink, he’s a ridiculously confident sub bottom twink.

Mark’s gonna leave it at that. He loves Chris dearly but he can’t spend all his time thinking about what Chris does or does not do for his cam audience. There’s ravioli to focus on. He puts on some soft music, his acoustic slow jams playlist, and sets a pot of water on to boil. At least between the water and the stove and the music, he can’t hear anything coming from the bedroom. 

He opens the app that they both use to cam, an indie porn and live-camming site called Whiplash, and there on the front page is Chris’s broadcast, still going strong. Gross. Mark moves over to Twitter, and then Instagram, and then when he’s bored of that and goes back to Whiplash, Chris’s broadcast is finally over. About fucking time. 

Chris himself comes out of the bedroom a moment later, calling an, “Okay, bro, you’re safe, nads are away!” 

The shower turns on in their shared bathroom, and at least for now, Mark is truly safe. His pasta water is boiling, salted and ready, so Mark dumps the ravioli in and stares at it. 

Intensely. 

Fresh pasta is a bitch to cook. It overcooks so easily. But Mark, with his infinite pasta knowledge, just keeps an eye on the time, and drains the ravioli right at perfection. A sweet tender al dente. If Mark is only good at one thing in his whole life, he doesn’t mind if it’s this. 

Just as Mark is choosing his ravioli toppings – a sauce? Just cheese? Some veg? – Chris comes into the kitchen. His brown hair is fluffy and curly from his shower, and he’s dressed in demure pajamas, looking far cry from the activity he was just doing online. 

“Can I have a ravioli?” Chris smiles prettily at Mark, “Just one. A single rav.” 

“You’re fucking lucky that I love you,” Mark replies, splitting the ravioli into two bowls, “You can have half.” 

“Even better!” says Chris. 

Mark is still scrutinizing the contents of their fridge. They don’t have fresh cheese, just the powdered topping kind. Is his ravioli too good for that? 

“Johrista really was asking for you,” Chris comments, “That guy’s so funny, dude. He comes on my stream for like ten seconds, gives me cash, and bails.” 

“A sucrose father,” says Mark. 

Chris nods emphatically. “Today? One hundo fucking smackers, bro. Does he ever message you?” 

“Nah,” Mark says, “I don’t think so.” 

He looks at his phone, as if to make sure. There are no porn DMs, but there’s one text from Mark’s friend Ten, which is almost worse. Ten is a few years older than Mark, and one of the most pointedly annoying people on the planet. He has pain-in-the-ass behavior down to an art. 

tenlee: **i paid chris $50 to leave his door open :) fuck you :)**

“Did Ten watch your stream?” Mark asks. 

“Fuck yeah he did,” Chris replies, “Why the hell else do you think I had the door open?” 

“He bribed you?!” 

“With sweet tasty cash.” 

“One of these days, I’m gonna move out, and take my good plug set with me,” Mark says. 

Chris looks at him with wide puppydog eyes. “Not the ones with the tails, Mark?! My audience! They need those!” 

Mark ignores him in favor of replying to Ten, dictating his message out loud as he types it, “Joke’s on you…asshole…Chris has a voyeurism thing…and he woulda done it for free.” 

“Well don’t tell him _that_ ,” Chris whines. “I need that money, you’re stealing my income.” 

“That is super not my problem,” says Mark. 

“It will be when I can’t pay rent and you’re forced out of this big boy apartment and we have to move back to Crenshaw.” 

Mark pours some olive oil over his pasta, giving it a little toss with oil and salt. It seems just mature enough, eating it that way. No pornstar in Crenshaw eats fresh pasta with oil and salt. Mark is beyond the Ragu life, now. Maybe.

“You should really change your user,” Mark says, instead. 

Chris looks indignant. “Why?!”

“Your username is StrawberryBlonde,” Mark says.

“And?”

Mark blinks at him. “You’re not fucking blonde.” 

He used to be blonde, so it isn’t just a stupid name that he picked for no reason. Chris was blonde for several years, until his scalp was literally threatening to melt right off his skull, and he went back to his natural dark brown to let the damage grow out. When he started the channel, that was part of his appeal: subby, blonde, and zero brain cells. Now he’s just subby and stupid.

“I have Han, I can be blonde still,” Chris argues. 

“You finally named the wig, huh?” 

“It looked like a Han,” Chris says, “It looks like this fuckin’ guy Felix dated last year. He had awful blonde hair, looked just like the wig, remember?” 

“I remember the guy. But his name was _Han?_ ” Mark asks. 

“That was his Soundcloud rapper name, if you believe it.” 

“I’ll pray for him.” 

Chris nods soberly. 

Mark presses one of the bowls of ravioli into Chris’s hands. “Here, you need calories. You burned all yours being a slut.” 

“I love that you care,” Chris simpers, with a big goofy smile. 

“Fuck off.” 

They settle in like that, Chris scrolling on his phone while they eat and occasionally turning the device toward Mark to show him a TikTok or a tweet. Mark is just in ravioli heaven. This is what his new above-the-poverty-line life is gonna be. Fresh pasta and quality time.

“Felix and Lucas watched my stream, too,” Chris reports. 

“Are you reading your comments?”

“Duh. I gotta know exactly how my ass made people feel,” Chris says. 

“Jesus Christ, dude,” Mark shakes his head. 

The weird sex talk comes with the territory, of course, but Mark is trying to eat his fucking sacred pumpkin ravioli. He doesn’t need to know anything about Chris’s ass or the way it makes strangers jack themselves off. 

“You act like you don’t even cam, Mark. Fuckin’ prude.” 

“No one, and I mean no one, is as enthusiastic as you,” Mark replies. 

Chris scrolls farther, frowning. “Felix says…’there’s a lot of dead space, try to fill the frame more.’”

“Ouch,” says Mark, around a mouthful of food. 

“The fuck does he know?” says Chris, pouting. “What a bitch.”

He shuts up for a blessed moment after that, just quietly reading comments and murmuring to himself. Mark loves Chris with his whole heart. He’s a great roommate and a perfect business partner. But he’s a drama queen and fuck if it doesn’t exhaust Mark to his very core. 

“You got your John Mayer playlist on,” Chris says suddenly. 

“Yeah.” 

“That means you’re thinkin’ hard. Do I need to book us another studio session?” 

Mark shudders. “I hate collabing with you, no.” 

“Not a porn studio, you fuckhole. I meant the music studio.” 

“Oh. That,” Mark says, relieved, “Yeah, might as well.” 

Chris nods. “Cool. If you give me a deadline I’ll finish this track and then text Matthew and set it up.” 

His ears go bright red, the first tell that Chris is mortified, and finally. Revenge. 

“Yeah,” Mark singsongs, “Text _Maaaaaatthew._ ” 

“I will,” Chris snaps. “And I won’t say anything dumb or talk about his tits. Or anything else I shouldn’t do.” 

“I think he likes it when you talk about his tits,” Mark points out. 

“I think he does too. But I still shouldn’t do it. We have a professional relationship and that’s it.” 

“Or,” says Mark, “Or he knows you do porn and watches you.” 

“Please don’t even suggest it,” Chris looks at the ceiling, as if talking to God above about his horrible crush on the older guy who works at their preferred by-the-hour studio, “I would like one pure innocent schoolboy crush in my life.” 

“You were never a pure innocent schoolboy.” 

“That’s why I want to have a crush like I am one!” 

Chris finishes eating and carries his used bowl over to the sink. He’s a quick eater. One of Chris’s friends, Jamie, once told Mark that Chris eats like someone’s gonna take his food bowl away, like a greedy dog, and that’s true. Mark is savoring his own meal, because he’s not a fucking animal. 

He just watches Chris wander over to the hall closet, where they keep all of their sex toys and equipment for camming. Most apartments have a linen closet. They have a toy closet, with racks of clothes and lingerie and boxes upon boxes of toys. 

“Hey, we need to do a dilbo wash this weekend,” calls Chris, pronouncing the word with a ‘b’ instead of a ‘d,’ one of their oldest inside jokes. “Like, real bad.” 

“Dilbo box empty?” Mark asks. 

“Real empty. They’re all dirty. We’ve been extra rowdy this week.” 

“It’s the new house horniness,” says Mark, “We have cash finally, which makes us hornier than usual.”

Chris laughs. “Are you a horny guru?” 

“Is that not our whole profession?” 

“Touché,” says Chris, “Then we’ll have to have a dilbo boil on Sunday. Bring the old tradition to the new house. The best possible bastardization of a crawfish boil.” 

Mark pauses. “I think that’s cultural appropriation.” 

“From the South?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Is that a distinct culture?” Chris wonders. 

Mark is aghast. “ _Yes_.” 

“Fuck.” 

“Plus when you say it that way, it seems like we invite our friends over to eat boiled dildos,” says Mark. 

“I mean,” Chris says, “Ten probably would. We shouldn’t encourage that behavior.” 

Mark slowly chews his last ravioli in lieu of an answer, savoring the last little bit of heaven while he still has it. Chris comes wandering back into the kitchen. 

“I’ll do the dishes, since you cooked,” says Chris. 

“What a kind gesture. You fucking freeloader.” 

Chris sticks his tongue out at Mark. “Don’t be like that. I’m a great housewife.” 

He saunters over to turn on the water at the tap, and Mark gathers the pot and the utensils and brings them to the sink to be washed. 

Over the din of the water, Chris says, “Hey, I didn’t really upset you, did I?” 

“What?” 

“We’ve seen each other naked a lot, I thought it would be okay if I-”

“No, no,” Mark interrupts, understanding, “You’re okay.” 

“I should have asked,” Chris frowns, “Consent and all.” 

“You’re okay, I promise.” 

“Okay. Do you wanna watch a movie tonight, then?” Chris asks. “Peace offering. I’ll make brownies. Felix’s special recipe. No weed.” 

“Sounds good. Thanks.” 

“It’s the least I can do!” Chris cries dramatically, slapping Mark on the shoulder with one damp, soapy hand. 

“Ew, fuck. I’m gonna go shower. Meet you on the couch?” Mark says, wiping the soap bubbles off his shirt. 

Chris nods and turns his full attention to the dishes in the sink. 

Really, being a camboy and living with a roommate who is also a camboy isn’t so bad, Mark muses, while he gathers his pajamas and heads to the shower. 

Chris is the one who got Mark into camming in the first place, about six months ago. Chris has been doing it for way longer, and he made a ton of money at it. He’s oddly very, very popular online, with his cute submissive camming personality and his soft masculine good looks. Mark met him in college two years ago, completely nonsexually. 

They were in a music class together at Irvine Valley College, both bored upperclassmen taking music classes for passion (versus all their lazy ass freshman classmates, in there for fine arts credit). Their friendship began the day that Chris threatened to jump a classmate who claimed that Iggy Azalea was a revolutionary rapper. Mark knew they’d get along. 

And they did. So well that when Mark expressed concern that waiting tables at Applebee’s wasn’t making rent in the OC anymore, Chris turned him onto his big secret: camming. Together, they made enough to afford this spectacular new apartment. 

They aren’t dating, contrary to what a lot of their friends and acquaintances thought at first. They’re not even fucking, save the occasional on-camera collab. They’re just friends, best friends with something very strange in common. 

But as Mark climbs out of the shower to the smell of baking brownies and the sound of Chris’s stupid high-pitched laugh at the TV, he thinks it’s pretty alright, what they have now. 

~ 🍓 Chris 🍓 ~

When Chris’s phone vibrates bright and early Saturday morning, he’s expecting it to be a text from Felix. He invited their little group of friends over for the dilbo boil on Sunday, so there are a few responses he’s waiting on, from Mark’s friends and his own. 

Of course, it’s not Felix. That would be too simple. 

It’s Matthew. 

Even though he’s in his own room and Matthew cannot fucking see him or know what he’s doing, Chris springs up in bed and immediately starts trying to flatten his wild curly morning hair. It doesn’t work. His hair is determined to make him look stupid at all hours. 

It’s just a text, Chris reminds himself. Just a text. He opens it. 

big matthew: **hey ur usual studio is free at 7pm on mon if thats ok**

chris: **that’s good thank you :)**

He’s such a fucking dumbass. He didn’t really need that smiley face, did he? He’s already fucked this up beyond repair. He drops his phone into the sheets in despair.

It’s a curse that all of Chris’s easy charisma that’s so natural on cam is instantly scattered when he’s faced with someone he actually likes. He has to have some weakness, he guesses. He’s got the booksmarts and the style and the looks…he just has no real-life flirtation skills. No game. God nerfed him with no game.

That’s why he screams so loudly when his phone rings. 

“God, no, not now!” Chris whines, “Not this, sweet baby Jesus –”

_pillikseu~_

Oh, thank God. Not Matthew. Felix. Just Felix.

Chris answers the call. 

“Hi,” singsongs Felix, on the other ends, sounding far too chipper. 

“Felix,” Chris breathes, “Felix, I hate you so fucking much.” 

“Ouch. Good morning to you, too.” 

Chris laughs sheepishly, “I thought you were Matthew, attacking me in my moment of weakness.” 

There’s a pause, and then Felix says, “…Who the fuck is Matthew?” 

“No one,” says Chris quickly, cursing himself for forgetting. 

Only Mark knows about his universe-sized crush on the music engineer known as Big Matthew, and that’s out of necessity, because the two have met several times. None of their other friends know, for a variety of reasons: Ten and Jamie are both steal-yo-man hot, and Felix and Lucas are notorious for attempting to play matchmaker, and any one of them could ruin everything.

“Chris,” Felix says, suspicious, “Are you speaking to a man?” 

“No.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“I’m literally not,” Chris protests. 

“Whatever,” Felix says, seemingly deciding to drop it, “I’m too fucking dead to argue with you.” 

“What time did you go to bed?” Chris asks. 

“I did not. Hyunjin never showed up for his shift last night, that twiggy-ass Taylor Swift-ass bitch. So I had to work a double. I’m never speaking to her again,” Felix groans. 

Felix works at a drag bar. It’s not a career than Chris would have foreseen, back when they were shy new international students, but it works for Felix. He’s got just the right dainty look to pull off a gentle high-femme drag, and his persona Chickadee is the top earner at their bar in Santa Monica. The Hyunjin in question is another queen, a tall elegant guy who plays the bleached blonde Jo Haeyo. Chris has heard plenty about this particular coworker before, and knows that overall, Felix really likes him. 

“You don’t mean that,” Chris soothes. 

“I do mean it. She stretched out my last pair of nylons with her giraffe legs last week, and now this. I hate her.” 

“He’s your only coworker who doesn’t do speed,” Chris reminds him. 

“I don’t do speed,” Felix protests. 

“I should fucking hope not.” 

Felix groans again. “Oh, yeah, hey, what time is your dinner thing?”

“It’s not until tomorrow.” 

“I know, but I need to know when to set my alarm for because I _will_ be unconscious until twenty minutes before it,” says Felix. “That’s why I called.”

“I told you in the fucking invite text, come over at like 5:30,” says Chris. 

“So, 7.” 

“If you come any later than like 6, Ten and Lucas will have finished every drop of alcohol in the house.” 

“5:50,” decides Felix. 

“Look, it’s your own loss if there’s no drinks, okay?” 

There’s a big rustling noise, a crash, and a soft “fuck!” like Felix has just dropped his phone, or collapsed or something. Chris sits there in silence until Felix’s voice comes back. 

“Alright well I’m gonna go die,” says Felix, sounds more disgruntled than before. “If you don’t hear from me tomorrow, go hunt down Hwang Hyunjin and rip off whatever cheap blond wig she’s wearing.” 

“You want me arrested,” Chris replies. 

“Avenge me.” 

“You want me arrested for assaulting a drag queen.” 

Felix huffs, annoyed, “Look-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, avenge you. I got it.” 

Chris hangs the fuck up. 

\---------------

It’s not like they mean to watch each other’s livestreams. It’s not high on Chris’s list of priorities, to see his roommate naked and horny several times a week, the impromptu private show for Mark courtesy of Ten notwithstanding. But tonight, it’s simply professional curiosity. He needs to see how this is going to go.

Mark used their last good toy on his stream last night, and Chris knows for a fact they haven’t cleaned any of the other ones to be used tonight. All the Cherry and Berry fans are picky, now. They’ve established such niche personas and personal brands, their fans have come to expect certain things during their streams. When he’s really feeling like a go-getter, Mark even sets up aerial scarves to do all kinds of weird suspension shit. But with no toys and no time to get more, Mark is gonna have to think on his toes. And Chris wants to see it. 

So late Saturday night, Chris logs onto Whiplash and turns on Mark’s stream when it starts. He’s not gonna, like, jerk it. He never does, not to Mark. 

The stream begins, and Chris realizes pretty quickly that Mark hadn’t thought out what he was going to do. There’s a brief second where Mark looks into the camera, eyes wide in panic, mutes the video, and then darts out of frame. Chris can hear his bedroom door open and close, and his feet running down the hallway. The audience are leaving rapid-fire comments about it. 

As quickly as he left, Mark comes running back in, careful to slow down and sit calmly before he’s onscreen again. It makes Chris laugh to himself; Mark’s camboy persona is very cavalier and confident, nothing like the desperate idiot who was running full-speed around their apartment yelling because he can’t find any dildos. 

Mark reads comments for a moment, and Chris is careful to add a few of his own. 

“Hi,” Mark says, smiling bashfully, “Hey, welcome.” 

Chris sees a familiar username flash by, and so does Mark, by the way he groans in annoyance. 

“@hungyukhey, get off my stream, man!” Mark whines. 

That’s Lucas. Chris laughs to himself. Their friends are all awful and nosy, and they love to watch when Chris or Mark go live. They leave comments and pay them tips and request bizarre things that usually get repeated by their actual viewers. The one disastrous time Chris experimented with whipped cream was because Jamie requested it to annoy him, and the fans went wild with the idea. Someone paid him $200 to do it, and the rest is history.

Onscreen, Mark squints at the comment section, and rolls his eyes. 

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Berry is here. That bitch,” Mark says, raising his voice to a yell that Chris can hear clear across the hall, “ _HI, BERRY._ ” 

Chris waves at the screen, though of course Mark can’t see him, and sends a winky face in the chat. 

“@kittylixie says…shave your armpits next time,” Mark reads, and pouts. “Fuck you, man, for real. I’m not driving you home from work on Thursday, shit.” 

Mark raises one arm to show off his armpit hair, and somewhere in the cosmos, Chris can feel Felix pretending to gag. 

“Body shaming me on my own channel. Blocked,” says Mark decisively. 

And then he goes supernova red. Chris scans the chat eagerly, knowing what’s coming, and then the stream pings with a donation, $500 from user Johrista. There he is. 

“Hey, Johrista,” says Mark. 

Their regular customer, a mysterious guy who has a huge and very obvious crush on Mark. He watches Chris’s streams, too, but it’s mostly to pop on, tip him, and then leave again, more or less as a courtesy for being Mark’s friend and roommate. It’s obvious to everyone except Mark himself that the guy is super super into him. Chris is a romantic, he has an eye for these things. Mark is not a romantic. 

“How was my day? Fine, slept in, had some food,” Mark says. 

Chris grins, and begins typing out some messages teasing Mark and his admirer Johrista. 

strawberryblonde: **_@johrista_ take him to dinner first jeez**   
strawberryblonde: **cherry you’re blueballing him, hurry up and whip it out**

But before Chris has even sent his second heckling comment, Johrista leaves the chat entirely, a little “signing off” message pinging in the chat. Oh, no. That…wasn’t what he wanted. Chris immediately feels incredibly guilty. He knows Mark likes the guy, too, in some capacity. As much as a camboy can like a customer.

Mark doesn’t look upset, though. On the contrary, he’s still answering questions calmly. Is that guy DMing him instead or something? 

“Nah, Johrista, I’m not tired. Do I look tired?” Mark teases, getting right up close to the camera. 

That answers that. He must be DMing in the subscribers’ private chat. Or texting, even. Snapchatting? Chris realizes he doesn’t know how close Mark even is with that guy. Ah, well. If Mark is annoyed, he’ll bring it up later. 

Chris spares a glance at the viewer count. It’s over two thousand. Two thousand people for a live show. It’s ridiculous. Chris has been camming and doing porn for years, and he’s still shook. That’s a lot of people who want to see him and his friends naked, and throw money at them over the internet. 

“I didn’t have time to set up anything crazy,” Mark is saying, “But we can still do a little something.” 

He pulls out a tiny bullet vibrator, and Chris laughs again, harder. This is a really desperate times, desperate measures situation. That’s the only thing he could find?! 

Mark, for his part, is really selling it, that he’s gonna put on a show with the tiny pink bullet. He’s slipping into his camboy persona, clipped answers and far more suave confidence than normal Mark. Just as he pulls out his dick, Chris clicks away from the live. He doesn’t need to see any more. He’ll hear all about it later. 

But before Chris closes the Whiplash tab entirely, he gets the little ‘ding’ of a donation on his own page, which is extremely odd because he’s not even live. 

It’s Johrista, who sent him $200 and a winking emoji. 

\---------------

The dilbo boil comes quickly. 

By the time Chris and Mark have prepared all the snacks and alcohol they’re going to need to get through a sex toy-related dinner party with their best friends, there’s a knock on the door. 

Chris opens up to find Jamie standing there, looking gorgeous and carefree as ever in a hoodie and cargo sweats. Her hair, a long mane of blonde-to-purple ombre, falls over one shoulder, and she’s glaring daggers at him. 

The first thing out of her mouth is, “Don’t sexually harass Mark.” 

“I don’t!” Chris says. 

“You left your door open and he was traumatized,” Jamie says, “Ten told me.” 

“Ten _paid me to do it!_ ” Chris protests. 

“And you could have been the bigger person about it and said no!” 

Chris holds the door open for her, moving out of her way, “Yell at Ten about it, he’s on his way.” 

“It’s so much more fun to yell at you,” she smirks. 

She pinches Chris’s cheek as she passes, and disappears into the house, calling her greetings to Mark as she goes. Chris can hear her gushing to him about the furniture and crown moldings in the new apartment, far more polite to Mark than she was to him. But that’s just Jamie: prickly and sarcastic, a good-natured bully, especially to people who she loves. 

Chris is about to close the door when he hears a delighted, “Chris!” 

It’s Lucas, bounding up the front walk to the apartment door in his infinite energy, with Ten trailing behind. They’ve obviously carpooled. 

“Even the parking lot is fancy,” Lucas says, by way of greeting, as he darts into the apartment. 

Ten trudges along after him with a plastic shopping bag in one hand. He stops to hug Chris tightly with his free arm, crushing him under a lean bicep and a cloud of sweet, light cologne.

“What’s in the bag?” Chris asks.

“Oh, these are yours,” says Ten

He tilts the bag toward Chris, so he can see the contents. It’s full of sex toys, a set of leather cuffs and a few different sizes of silicone plugs. 

“You’re washing all of them anyway so I figured I would return these. Got some good use out of them,” Ten says slyly. 

He hands the bag to Chris, and blows him a kiss as he heads into the house, too. Chris shudders, but takes the bag in with him and closes the door. It’s nasty as fuck, but Ten has a point. Might as well clean everything and put it back in its place. 

This isn’t their first dilbo boil.

Ever since they began camming as a unit, Chris and Mark would get together on Sundays, get drunk, and sanitize all their sex toys. It’s a long boring job to boil glass toys in water and run the plastic ones through the dishwasher, and it’s easy to talk about their line of work with another person who does the same. So the tradition was born. 

After the first couple times, their friends got curious. And with Felix already working in drag and Ten and Jamie being the way they are, it was second nature to just invite everyone. They began to make a thing out of it, a kind of group dinner with a very strange central activity. It’s not something to bring new friends or partners to (Felix had tried, once, to bring a girlfriend over and it did not end well), but it’s good fun for the six of them to drink and help fix the toy closet, to go over past shoots and plan for the upcoming ones. 

Their friends also like to go through the toys for their own personal agendas. 

In the past, sometimes one of them would awkwardly ask to borrow something. Felix would take lingerie for work, or Jamie would take a toy just to try. Ten and Lucas borrow stuff for their individual slut endeavors, and they used to not even say what items they were stealing. Chris or Mark would find their toys missing later, when they wanted to use them…it was a whole mess. So now they have a sex toy library, organized and ready to loan. They even have a sign-out sheet, printed on nice stationery. It’s professional as hell, and weird as hell.

Chris dumps the bag of toys in the kitchen, where Mark is already settling the boxes of dirty toys from their bedrooms. There’s an enormous stock pot on the stove, filled with water over a straining gas burner, ready to be filled with nasty things. Mark has it under control, so he goes to see their friends in the living room.

Jamie is sitting on the couch, with Ten half in her lap, and Lucas is laying on his stomach on the floor, his heels kicking up behind him. 

“How are you guys?” Chris asks. 

“Dead,” Jamie replies. 

“Alive,” says Ten. 

Lucas is looking between the two of them keenly, as though he’s just realized something. They’re both pretty handsy with each other, though, so Chris doesn’t know quite what he’s thinking. The lap-sitting is normal. 

“That’s cool,” says Chris. 

“Where’s Felix?” Lucas asks. 

“He was sleeping, but hopefully he’s on his way now,” Chris replies, “He got stuck with a shit shift last night so he’s gonna be late.” 

Ten groans, “I was gonna go see him perform last night, but I got stuck at the company after closing, til like 11pm. Whoever told me to teach kids’ hiphop for extra cash was fucking insane.” 

“What kind of mom wants their kid at dance class in the middle of the night?” Jamie asks. 

“Obviously you don’t know how dance moms act,” Ten says seriously, “If I could stay and teach Kerbethany and Bratleigh how to twerk all night long, they’d want me to, and they’d pay me half my hourly to do it.” 

“That reminds me,” says Jamie. 

She hauls off and slaps Ten across the chest, the sound of it echoing dully. It wasn’t a hard hit – if Jamie was aiming to hurt, then he would be hurting. But it’s still a nice solid impact. Lucas winces on Ten’s behalf, and then laughs. 

“Ow!” Ten yelps, “I’m a delicate little bird, how could you?!” 

“Stop paying Chris to violate Mark!” Jamie says. 

Ten smiles evilly. “Oh, that. Worth every penny.” 

He winks at Chris, and Jamie slaps him again. But Ten is still sitting pretty on her lap, so Chris knows they’re just bickering for show. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Jamie grumbles.

“Fuck around and find out,” Ten replies, arching an eyebrow flirtatiously. 

The front door opens with a creak as Chris watches the two of them, and suddenly the house is filled with the sound of Felix fake-crying. 

“Lucas!” he calls, deep voice wavering dramatically. 

Grinning, Lucas jumps up and goes to welcome their last friend. Chris eyes him as he retreats. 

“Oh, now he’s all ‘Lucas,’” Chris says, exasperated, “Why wasn’t he calling for Lucas when he was half-naked on the side of the 405 at 3am, last month?” 

“I haven’t heard that story,” says Ten, looking interested. 

“Felix was coming back from a drag show. His coworker Hyunjin was supposed to drive him home but – huh,” Chris pauses, “Wait, maybe that’s why he’s so pissed at that guy. Huh.” 

“The _story_ ,” Ten insists. 

“His coworker _allegedly_ got food poisoning and had to leave early but Lix wanted to work longer,” Chris explains, “And he tried to Uber home but then the Uber hit a pothole and blew a tire in the middle of the highway.” 

“You BLOCKED ME from your stream,” Felix is crying at Mark, still in the kitchen. 

“I did,” Mark replies evenly. 

“And then he ripped his costume getting out of the Uber. So, half-naked. 405. 3am,” Chris finishes. 

“Lixie, baby, c’mere,” Ten calls, looking mildly concerned even though the Uber incident was weeks ago.

Felix appears in the living room with Lucas at his heels, and Mark bringing up the rear. He throws himself into Ten’s lap, crushing Jamie beneath the two of them. His face is bright and tear-free, his fake crying schtick abandoned.

“Hey!” she screeches, trying to wiggle free. 

“Ten-ten,” Felix says, settling more fully onto Ten, side-saddle, “The week I’ve had…” 

“Me too,” Ten agrees, cuddling Felix, “Chris, I can never thank you enough for giving me my baby Lixie.” 

Jamie finally gets free from under the boys, muttering curses at them, and relocates to the floor. Lucas settles back down beside her, seemingly unbothered by all of it.

“Will you come sort your toys?” Mark asks Chris, “I’m not touching anything that’s gone inside you, no offense.” 

“You got it,” Chris says. 

He follows Mark back to the kitchen, and they begin to sort the items from their own dirty bins: glass and metal toys for the boiling water on the stove, silicone toys for the dishwasher, and everything else for handwashing. 

“Gang’s all here,” Mark says. 

“First time at the new house, too,” Chris replies. “It’s good to have everyone at once.” 

“I missed the whole family,” Mark agrees. 

“Aren’t we lucky that everyone likes each other?” 

“The most successful blended family ever.” 

Chris laughs. “Stepparents everywhere need to look to our example.” 

Mark tosses the last glass toy into its designated bin, and stands up to check on the pot of water. He lifts the lid, and steam hisses out. Chris can see the water roiling inside. It’s time. 

“Alright, boiling time,” Mark calls into the other room. 

There’s a little shriek and a cacophony of running feet as the other four detangle themselves and tear into the kitchen for the main event. The kitchen really isn’t big enough for six people, but they make it work, squishing in around the stovetop. 

Mark picks up the plastic bin that holds all the glass toys, and unceremoniously dumps them all into the boiling water. And the six of them, six grown-ass people with jobs and apartments, stand there and watch the pretty glass dildos swirl around inside the stock pot, the way other normal people would watch a campfire, or a parade. It’s objectively nice, the little glass ornaments in different colors, some inlaid with flowers or glitter patterns, tumbling in the water like that. 

But they’re still fucking dildos in a pot.

“It’s so nice,” says Lucas idly, “Why is it always so nice?” 

“We’re all psychopaths,” replies Ten. 

“Yeah,” Jamie agrees. 

“Shut up and watch the dilbos,” says Mark. 

And they do.

\---------------

They end the night drunk and happy. 

Everyone sleeps over, because this blended family doesn’t drink and drive. Chris finds himself on the floor beside the sofa, under a blanket stolen from his bedroom. Mark is tucked into his left side, and Jamie his right. Lucas is sprawled on his stomach beside them, snoring lightly, and Ten and Felix are curled together on the couch. And as Chris looks at them through groggy eyes, he’s filled with a soft gooey love for his friends. 

His biological family, his parents and his little brother and sister, are in Australia, where Chris grew up. Felix’s family is, too, back in Sydney, so close to Chris’s though they met in Los Angeles. Mark’s parents are in Toronto, Ten’s in Thailand, Lucas’s whole family still lives in Hong Kong, and Jamie’s parents are in Seoul. The six of them all moved to the States over the years, pursuing degrees and jobs, and it’s funny how they’ve all stuck together like this.

They’re a little family of lost ducks, stray kids, and Chris is happy to have them. 

Damn, he really _is_ trashed. 

~ 🍒 Mark 🍒 ~

“We’re going to be late!” says Chris, his voice muffled through the glass. 

He’s outside the car, tapping on Mark’s driver-side window like a pest. Mark is literally on the phone with his bank for what feels like the hundredth damn time. He’s assuring them yet again that, yes, the purchases at Extreme Restraints sex toy shop and the check deposits from Whiplash are legitimately him and not some super horny identity thief. 

They’re sat in the parking lot of the music studio, and honestly, Mark isn’t as worried about being late as he is about being rolled. Their usual by-the-hour studio, a tiny business called JCC, is in a run-down business park buried in central Anaheim, a one-story stucco-walled piece of SoCal gothic. It’s fine, Mark has lived in places with statistically more crime, and it’s not like there’s anything wrong with Anaheim, but he still feels squirrelly. 

Plus, it’s summertime in Southern California, and Mark’s car isn’t even turned on. He’s dying.

“I am certain, yes, the charge for $300 on strawberry lube from a private contractor was me,” Mark says impatiently. 

The accounts manager on the other end makes a dubious sound. “If you’re sure, sir.” 

“I am so sure.” 

“Alright, sir. That will be all. Take care.” 

Mark hangs up before she can. It’s a petty grab for control, but come on. A guy can only handle so many probing phone calls from banking professionals who want to know if you, a twentysomething young man, _really_ meant to buy expensive lingerie from Brazil. Because he did mean to. He always means to. And it’s stupidly embarrassing.

He climbs out of the car, and Chris slugs him hard on the shoulder. 

“Ow! Dude!”

Chris pouts, walking away from the car toward the building. “If you make me late to see Matthew, I’m literally gonna-”

“Oh, save it,” says Mark, following him, “As if you actually have the balls to speak to him. You just make puppy eyes and go along with whatever he suggests.” 

“I am a professional,” Chris insists, “And I do speak to him.” 

“We’ll see,” says Mark. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Mark pushes open the front door, and the rush of air conditioning ruffles his hair as he steps into the worn but homey entry of the little studio. The guy at the front desk, a slim man in a big knit sweater, lights up when he sees them. 

“Ayyy, my favorite kids!” he grins. 

“Hi, Eric,” says Mark, as Eric stands up to crush Mark in an awkward hug and ruffle Chris’s hair. 

“Long time no see,” Eric says.

“Where’s Matthew?” Mark asks, “We have an appointment.” 

Eric rolls his eyes. “Who knows?” 

“He’s not here?” Chris asks, uneasy. 

“Oh no, he’s here,” Eric sizes up Chris, grinning wider, “And he’s looking especially jacked today.” 

Mark chokes back a laugh, as Chris begins to blush pink across his cheeks.

“Cool, that’s cool,” says Chris. 

“Those pecs?” Eric wolf-whistles. 

Chris looks like he wants to pout again. “It’s cool. I’m cool.” 

“Your shirt’s inside-out, buddy,” Eric says. 

Chris looks down at himself. His hoodie is definitely inside-out, the front pocket gone and the fuzzy lining bared to the world. Mark noticed about thirty minutes ago, but he wasn’t about to spoil the fun by telling Chris about it. 

“ _Fuck,_ ” Chris whines. 

Mark laughs for real, and Chris looks like he wants to melt through the floor. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Chris says, shooting Mark a glare. 

“Because if you had to fix it in front of Matthew, you could just seduce him right up with your hot bod,” says Mark matter-of-factly. 

Chris huffs, and tugs the sweatshirt over his head, baring his pale, sculpted torso to the world since he’s not wearing a shirt underneath. He wrestles the garment back right-side-out while Mark and Eric just watch, and Mark laments just how little Chris shows off that body. It could really work for him, but Chris is surprisingly shy about it, usually choosing to cam in a big sweater or a shirt, covering as much as he can. 

“I’m too hungover for this,” Chris mumbles. 

He pulls the hoodie back on, but before his abs and lats are covered back up, Matthew comes out from the back of the studio. Mark is delighted to see the double-take and appreciative nod, as Matthew’s eyes sweep over his body. Chris’s head finally reemerges from his top, and he yelps in surprise. 

“Matthew-”

“Bro, you been putting in the hours or what?” Matthew asks appreciatively. 

Chris sputters, “I mean, I-”

“Looks great,” Matthew winks at him, and grins sidelong at Mark, “Hey, Marky.” 

And Mark gives Chris a hearty smack on the ass as he bounds forward to walk with Matthew. 

“How’s it been?” Mark asks him. 

Matthew shrugs. “Same ol’. Kids who think they’re the next Billie Eilish popping up to moan into a mic for an hour on mommy’s dime.” 

“Yikes.” 

Matthew talks at him while they walk to the studio room, and Mark is happy to listen. Mark really likes him. He’s a cool guy, into fitness and fashion but mostly music. He’s handsome, Mark guesses, in a rugged kind of way, a few years older than him and Chris. Mark thinks he’s a good mentor and an even better friend, but Chris is seriously into him. It’s obvious from the way his ears are flaming red just from walking near him, and from the way he won’t even meet Matthew’s eye. 

Serious crush territory.

They reach the studio room, a tiny space with a mixing desk and seating for two, plus a closet-sized recording booth. The lights are low and atmospheric, and the sound system is off the hook. It’s little, but it has all the trappings, and a staff who can make pretty much anything happen. 

“This looks good,” Matthew says, taking a look at the lyrics and guides that Mark brought with him. “You want me to stay today?” 

Mark takes pity on Chris, and says, “I think we can handle it for now. We’ll call if we need anything.” 

“You got it,” says Matthew, and he leaves, shutting the door behind him. 

After he’s gone, Chris turns to Mark with a satisfied expression. “I think that went well.” 

Mark laughs so hard he nearly cries, while Chris pouts again and gets in place at the mixing table. 

“Get in the booth, fucker,” Chris says. 

“You’re _hopeless_ , dude,” Mark wheezes. “You could just ask him out!” 

“As if you would do any better in my shoes,” Chris says. “You fucking-”

But Mark climbs into the booth and shuts the door, sealing himself into the soundproof room. He mimes not being able to hear, and Chris rolls his eyes. 

Mark settles the lyric sheet and his vocal guide onto the music stand in front of him, and instantly he feels calmer. Because this…this is what camming does for him. Camming makes money, so Mark can make music. 

He likes camming, likes it plenty. It’s not a job for everyone, but Mark thoroughly enjoys his streams and Snapchats and things. He wouldn’t do it if he didn’t like it a lot, he’s not that desperate or that down on himself. But he also loves music, and so does Chris. They’re a duo in porn, and a duo in this, too. 

“Ready for a dry run?” comes Chris’s voice over the speakers in the booth. 

Mark gives him a thumbs-up. The raw track that they’ve been working on begins to play into the booth, sweet and smooth acoustic. It’s Mark’s guitar, and a composite backing track that’s all Chris’s magic on the midi controller. Altogether it’s a nice song, just a tiny bit more pop-leaning than the stuff Mark makes on his own. He’s more singer-songwriter, but Chris adds just a touch of mainstream pop, and Mark likes it. 

The music runs for a few seconds more, and Mark sings. 

Mark loves singing. For the three minutes and change that the song runs, he’s at peace. 

Which is more than he can say for Chris, who is staring at him, brow furrowed and face stony, as he finishes the song. 

“That sucked,” says Chris. 

Mark is appalled. “What do you mean, it sucked?!” 

“You were doing that weird indie singer thing,” says Chris, and he mimics someone mimicking Halsey. 

“I don’t sound like that,” says Mark, affronted. “If you think I do, you need help.” 

Mark knows what this is. Chris is throwing a bitch fit because he’s embarrassed about Matthew. As if that’s going to help anything. He should know better than to start something with Mark over this. Mark is not afraid to play dirty.

“Sing it right,” Chris insists. 

Alright, then. Mark just looks him dead in the eye. He walks out of the booth, ignoring Chris demanding that he calm down, and opens the door into the hallway. 

“Yo, Matt?” Mark yells. 

“’Sup?” comes Matthew’s voice from down the hall. 

“Can you cm’ere?” 

“For sure.” 

Mark watches as Matthew comes back down the hall and into their studio, knowing that Chris is behind him squirming. If the bitch is gonna say he’s a bad singer, Mark’s gonna get a second opinion. 

“You should probably stay the whole time and make sure things go okay, Chris doesn’t feel so hot,” says Mark innocently. 

“Aw, shit,” says Matthew, glancing at Chris with serious, concerned eyes, “I can help, no worries.” 

Chris looks like a deer in headlights, and Mark, satisfied, pops back into the booth. He slips Chris the middle finger behind Matthew’s broad turned back. Mark settles back behind his mic, and relishes the view of Chris in his little spinny chair, with Matthew stood right behind him leaning on the chair, his big buff arms caging Chris in. The boner that Chris must have, under the desk…Mark laughs to himself. 

And then he goes for the song again.

\---------------

At the end of their studio session, after the song is recorded and the composite pieces are stored safely on one of Chris’s external hard drives, Mark finds himself making smalltalk with the studio staff. He’s just paid the tab for their recording session, and Eric is a chatty guy, so here he is. Chris is over in the corner, Matthew talking his ear off while Chris just stares at him, dazed. 

It’s a Monday, there’s no one else in the studio at all. So Mark is doing his best to juggle his own conversation while watching Chris crash and burn. 

“You have a day job, right?” Eric is saying. 

“Yeah, of course,” Mark says. 

“What do you do?” 

Now, in Mark’s defense, he’s utterly distracted by his roommate being romanced in the corner by an enormous muscular hip hop musician. 

So he’s brutally honest when he answers, “Porn.” 

Poor Eric chokes on nothing, hacking violently as he gasps, “You…you _what?_ ” 

“Oh God,” Mark backtracks, “Just, like, amateur stuff.” 

Eric coughs again, looking no less appalled. 

“Me and Chris, we just…have you heard of camming?” 

“How old do you think I am?” Eric complains. 

Mark is lost. “Ashley told me you were thirty-one, but-“

“Yes, I’ve heard of camming,” says Eric, “My issue here is that you two do it!” 

“Not, like, together,” Mark says. “But yeah.” 

“You do porn.” 

“We cam,” Mark repeats. 

There’s a moment of pregnant silence. The other staff member, a girl in her late twenties named Ashley, lingers by the entry to the foyer like she wants to join in, and then reconsiders and ducks back into her admin office. 

“…Do you need my help?” asks Eric, dead serious.

Mark is blindsided. “What?” 

“Do you need help to get out of this life?” asks Eric. “I don’t wanna seem sex-negative, but you two are good kids. I know you have talent and drive, so if you don’t WANT to be doing porn-”

“ _No,_ ” Mark cuts in, “God, no, we’re okay.” 

“Are you _sure?_ ”

“Yes, absolutely.” 

Sweet, pure Eric, a soft grandpa-type in his big sweater, nods slowly. He reaches out and grabs Mark by both shoulders. 

“I trust your judgment,” he says, “But if it ever gets bad, you call me. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Mark agrees. 

It’s shockingly touching, how worried Eric is on their behalf. He’s a pretty mild guy, more than ten years older than Mark, and he’s apparently taking his job as an older, more worldly friend very seriously. 

Chris comes over just then, blushed red right down to his toes. 

“You good?” Mark asks. 

“Hug,” Chris mumbles, “Arms. Pecs.” 

“Ah.” 

“Can we go?” 

Mark grins at Eric, and lets Chris drag him bodily out the front door. They traipse across the parking lot, and Chris collapses against the side of the car. It’s a good thing the sun’s gone down, or he’d be facing some serious metal burns.

“Dude, did you cum in your pants from just a hug?” Mark asks, taking in just how disheveled his roommate looks. 

Chris looks at him, weary. “Don’t even joke about that.” 

“I getcha, it’s no fun popping boners in the studio, Mark says, all fake sympathy. 

“Yeah,” Chris agrees. 

Dumbfounded, Mark shrieks with laughter again. He didn’t expect Chris to _agree._

“What?” Chris asks, wounded. 

“I was JOKING,” Mark gasps. “Did you actually have a boner?!” 

“I hate it here,” Chris mutters, sliding into the passenger’s seat of the car. 

Mark wipes tears of mirth out of his eyes. “Me too, bro. Me too.” 

~ 🍓 Chris 🍓 ~

It’s only 11 in the morning when Chris pulls Mark’s car into a parking spot in front of Norm’s. For Chris and his fucked sleep schedule, there’s literally nowhere he’d rather be at 11AM than in bed. But no. He’s in Costa Mesa, at the Norm’s Shitty Los Angeles Diner location closest to Lucas’s apartment, exhausted and messy in basketball shorts and a hoodie. 

He feels like death. He finally fell asleep at 6 o’clock, against all odds and all of his insomnia, and then had to wake up again to meet his friends for brunch. 

Chris staggers into the Norm’s in all its bright orange garishness, and waves away the hostess in favor of squinting around the room. He spots them, finally, two bright stupid heads of dyed hair, Felix in fire-engine red and Lucas’s aqua blue. He drags himself to their table, and plops down beside Felix in the booth. 

“Why did you bring me here?” he asks, prying his eyes open.

“Shh,” says Felix, scooting farther into the booth to make room, “Order something and we’ll tell you. I want you conscious.” 

“This is important,” Lucas agrees. 

Lucas peers over Chris’s shoulder to wave over their server, while Chris struggles to make the words in the menu make sense. He might have forgotten how to read, honestly. His network is down. 

“What’ll you have?” the waitress is asking Lucas. 

They order around him, and finally Chris decides on some pancakes. It’s the first picture that looks good; he’s already given up on reading. He wishes, not for the first time, that Lucas’s shit diner of choice served alcohol. He needs a mimosa. Maybe a tequila flight. 

As soon as the server is gone, Lucas leans in seriously across the table. 

“Okay, so, we have to talk about this,” says Lucas. “And we can’t trust Mark with it. He doesn’t believe that we have the Touch, y’know?” 

“I do not know,” says Chris. 

“We,” says Felix, “Are excellent matchmakers.” 

Chris scrutinizes him, trying to decide where this conversation is going. Felix has glitter caked around his eyes and bits of glue in his sharp dark brows. He must have worked the night before. It’s distracting Chris’s tired brain immensely.

“Are you?” Chris asks. “Are you actually?”

“We are,” says Lucas, defensive. 

“Have you two ever actually fixed up a couple that lasted?” Chris asks. 

“Yes,” scoffs Felix, “My ex, Jisung, you remember him?” 

“No.” 

Felix is exasperated. “You literally hung out with him a lot. You worked on his mixtape?” 

“Oh, Han,” says Chris, finally catching up, “I named my wig after him.” 

“You…what?”

“You heard me.” 

Lucas cuts in, “We fixed him up with a guy from my office. And they’re still together, it’s been like 4 months. That’s a success.” 

“So now, we’ve found our newest match that needs to be made,” says Felix. 

“Who is it?” Chris asks, resigned. 

“It’s a wild card,” Lucas warns. 

Chris fixes him with his best deadpan. “If you say me and Mark-”

“Ew,” says Felix, “Ew. No. Fuck no.” 

Chris tries really hard not to be offended by the way Felix looks disgusted, as he asks, “Then who?” 

Lucas peers around furtively, like he’s gonna catch someone eavesdropping on them, and then says, “Ten and Jamie.” 

It has to be a joke. Chris is certain that they’re putting him on, until he glances sidelong at Felix and sees nothing but firm expectation, waiting for a reaction. 

“Fucking…pardon?” Chris says, finally. 

“Oh, come one, you can’t tell me that you haven’t seen it,” says Felix. “The way they flirt?” 

“They’re all over each other!” says Lucas. 

“Ten is just like that,” Chris dismisses. 

“But what about Jamie? She’s not the cuddly type, but for Ten, anything goes,” says Lucas. 

“That’s just because they’re the same fucking person,” says Chris. “They get along TOO well. I’m constantly scared they’re gonna leave us and start a new friend group with cooler people.” 

“Look, they’re perfect for each other,” says Lucas. “Both sluts.” 

“Hey!” says Chris, affronted. “Sex positive, we are sex positive!”

“You’re a digital slut,” Felix soothes, missing the point entirely, “It’s different.” 

“They’re meant to be,” insists Lucas. 

“You can certainly try but I want no part in it,” Chris says. “Jamie is way too picky to be set up on a date, ever. And Ten isn’t stupid, he’ll see what you’re doing. They both will.” 

Lucas looks solemn. “We still have to try.” 

The server saves Chris from having to reply to this madness by bringing their food to the table, balancing their three plates easily. Lucas has inexplicably gone for a full dinner at 11am, some combo with steak and chicken and fried shrimp, a whole mess. Felix has waffles, like a real person, and Chris has his pancakes. Chris digs in right away, hoping that the food will derail the conversation. 

But after he’s diced his waffle into neat square bits, Felix says, “So, are you helping?”

“Absolutely not,” says Chris flatly. 

“Come on,” coaxes Lucas, “Don’t you want some credit when they get married?” 

“Ten will never get married,” says Chris. 

“I hope he will,” says Lucas, miffed. “We made a best man pact, if he doesn’t then my end of the deal is fucked.” 

“Okay, fine, he won’t marry Jamie.” 

“Not if we don’t help them along!” says Felix, “I don’t see how you’re not getting this.”

Chris shoves another bite of strawberry (he has a brand to uphold, dammit) pancake into his mouth, swallows it, and says, “I’m going home. And going back to bed. And you two are going to leave Ten and Jamie alone.” 

Lucas picks up one of the chicken tenders from his steak trio dinner and stares at it like it’s an oracle. He meets Felix’s eye past the tender, expression impish, and Chris sighs. 

“You’re not gonna leave it alone, are you?” Chris asks. 

“Afraid not,” says Lucas. 

“Damn.” 

They eat in peace for another moment, Felix methodically eating through his tiny waffle squares, and Lucas tearing through his steak. Chris spares a thought for the world of hurt that these two are going to be in for, if Jamie finds out that they’re trying to make dick appointments on her behalf. They don’t need another friend mad at them, not after – 

“Oh, yeah,” Chris says, suddenly, “Felix, if you really want Mark to drive you home after your Thursday shift, you gotta suck up to him big time. He’s kinda actually pissed about the armpit thing.” 

Felix wrinkles his nose delicately. “Armpit hair is gross. He needs to get with it.” 

Lucas, who is in a tank top, lifts his own arm to reveal a dark tangle of hair. 

“I don’t mind it,” he says thoughtfully.

Felix recoils. “Ugh. Shave it.” 

“You do drag, your standards are different,” Lucas points out.

“It’s not just me, Chris waxes!” Felix protests. 

“I do,” Chris agrees. 

Lucas stuffs a fried shrimp into his mouth instead of answering, and Chris nearly gags at the idea of eating that kind of greasy, nasty seafood before noon. 

“You’re paying for this meal,” Chris says, “You dragged me out for a dumbass reason.” 

Felix looks offended, “Excuse me? You’re the oldest, you should-”

Chris stares daggers at him, the effect slightly ruined by the way he’s still eating those happy pink strawberry pancakes, but Felix laughs nervously. 

“-never pay for anything ever,” Felix finishes, with a winning, innocent smile. 

“That’s more like it.”

\---------------

No matter how many times Chris has cammed in his full persona over the years, it’s a little embarrassing. Sometimes, like last week when he was messing with Mark, he just cams as himself, no flair and no acting. Just playing and talking to the commenters, whatever happens, happens, stream of consciousness. But sometimes, he really goes full playtime. 

Now that they’ve washed and filed away all of their toys and clothes and things, he can really make a day of it.

The closet might be done but Chris’s bedroom isn’t entirely sorted, yet. He can’t decide if he wants to paint the walls, and that’s kept him from putting up décor and deciding on permanent places for the furniture. But he’s got the tapestry he uses as a backdrop, and the pink pillows and blankets, soft and glittery and freshly-laundered, that really sell his camboy persona. He situates them in the corner he’s decided to use for his streams. It’s away from the window, no view to outside and no intel about the layout of his apartment, a safe spot. He makes a nest, of sorts, on the floor to film, feeling for all the world like a beauty YouTuber from 2011 as he does. 

In real life, Chris is a dude who wears all black and likes EDM and is kind of shy, all things considered. He’s pretty normal, he supposes, kind of standard. But his cam persona is VERY specific. 

He’s always leaned more submissive in bed. When he took up camming in college, he very quickly decided to go all-in on that facet of himself. And apparently, that’s what the people (men, women, and folks of all genders) who frequent Whiplash want from their camboys. The most popular model on the site is a man who goes by the mononym T.Y., and he does the softest of the soft sub bottom content. 

Chris is in that vein. Usually a bottom…more than a bit of a sub, he muses, as he wanders through the hall to the toy closet. He knows what he wants, and it only takes a moment of rifling through their clearly labelled system to find the right toys. 

He carries the armload of supplies back to his room and dumps them on his bed, not bothering to shut the door. After the prank last week, Mark is hiding out at Jamie’s apartment for the evening. Chris had asked him about a hundred times if he was angry, but Mark assured him over and over that he wasn’t. They’re making dinner together, gonna watch some reality show that Chris doesn’t like. And Chris trusts him. 

About ready. Chris changes from his all-black daywear into one of the garments they have specifically for camming. It’s nothing crazy: a huge oversized hoodie in a pale pink color. They definitely bought it in the women’s section, but it’s soft and pretty and really, gendered clothes are bullshit. He’s got it all, he thinks, as he lines up the toys on the floor in his little nest. Lilac-colored jelly dildo, lube, collar…

They really love that damn collar, Chris thinks, picking it up to secure around his neck. 

He thinks about it more as he stands at his dresser, peering into a small standing mirror while he applies some makeup. He doesn’t know why, but there are a couple things that make his more devout fans go feral. A glitter eye look is one, and this collar is another. It’s a pink leather thing with a thick silver buckle in back. A dainty silver chain lays over the leather, and in the center dangles a heart-shaped name tag with “Berry” inscribed on it. 

The secret is that as much as the fans like seeing it, Chris like wearing it twice as much. 

He finishes brushing white glitter along his inner eye and down the lower lash line, and puts down the angled brush, satisfied. With one last glance at himself in the mirror, he takes a seat in his pile of pillows. Showtime. 

Chris begins the stream. It’s obvious when the push notification goes out, because the view count jumps from the tens to the thousands. He beams at the camera as the comments start rolling in, slowly and then faster. There are some regulars and some premium users whose comments get automatically pinned, so he can see them and reply. 

“@rosesarerosie likes my glitter liner,” Chris reads, “Thank you! It’s Trixie Cosmetics.” 

He makes a stupid face, fluttering his lashes, and a donation pings in. Huh. 

“@icanshownutheworld, $100 is so generous,” Chris says, trying not to be embarrassed. 

He carries on like that, slipping more into his cute gentle bottom persona, femme and sweet. It’s going well, per usual, just a nice time before and sex stuff even starts. It sounds stupid, even when he talks about it with people who understand like Mark, but Chris really likes the community that comes with camming here. Whiplash is fiercely-guarded LGBTQ porn site, and it’s just fun to be here. Fun, as he pretends to not even notice the camera while he sits up on his heels and slides his boxer-briefs off, while he ignores the flood of donations when he’s finally (half) bare to the internet. 

But of course, something has to happen right when he’s reaching for the lube.

There’s a twenty-dollar donation with a smiley-face memo from a user that Chris doesn’t recognize, with the screen name @bmmakeitbang. 

For a brief second, Chris panics. Because that’s his last name. Bang. He wonders if this is someone he knows, trying to blackmail him, get his attention. He doesn’t think that his family knows about the work he does. If they did…well. Well. He looks at the name, heart pounding. B-m-make-it-bang. It sounds like something he should know…

And then there’s another message in the chat. 

bmmakeitbang: **damn i didnt see all this the other day**

And Chris swears his heart stops altogether, just sitting there uselessly in his chest. He hopes he doesn’t look as dumbfounded as he feels. That would ruin his persona, and he’s just starting to heat things up. There are people watching. 

This person…types just like he talks. Chris knows who it is. 

BM, for Big Matthew. 

Oh, he’s so so so fucked. He’s in a stupid pink sweater, dick out and everything. His not-so-innocent schoolboy crush is watching him cam on a gay porn site. 

There’s a rush of comments that Chris can’t read very well as they blur past, things like “the other day???” and “what did you SEE??” God, Matthew’s not clueless enough to just air out Chris’s real-life dirty laundry on here, is he? 

But Matthew doesn’t send any other messages. Oh shit, it must be obvious exactly how panicked Chris is…he’s embarrassed and startled but he doesn’t want to come across as…actually angry or anything.

So he puts back on a pretty, sheepish smile, and says, “Sorry, BM, you surprised me.” 

He makes an effort to get back into it, grabbing the lube with one adrenaline-shaky hand. He scans the comments. 

“@hungyukhey says, I think that’s the jelly toy set I bought you for your birthday…” Chris reaches around and picks up the dildo, quietly thanking Lucas, wherever he is, for rerouting things, “It fucking is and I can’t believe you did that. Also, get off my stream, we’re trying to have fun.” 

For some reason, Lucas harassing him really shocks Chris back into the zone. He pops the top of the lube, and makes up his mind. If Matthew is gonna watch, he’s gonna get a show.

Mark calls Chris a slut pretty often. It’s affectionate, but still a roast. 

And you know…it’s true, too. 

Chris knows it’s true, because he slicks up one hand with lube and the Pavlovian dog in him sits up and begs. He pushes one finger into himself, and his brain turns to mush.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They aren’t dating, contrary to what a lot of their friends and acquaintances thought at first. They’re not even fucking, save the occasional on-camera collab. They’re just friends, best friends with something very strange in common.
> 
> But as Mark climbs out of the shower to the smell of baking brownies and the sound of Chris’s stupid high-pitched laugh at the TV, he thinks it’s pretty alright, what they have now.
> 
> (NCT x Stray Kids Camboy AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mornings after and drag queens and miscommunication as a plot device, oh my! This chapter is 14k words and I don't know what to say about that except I'm sorry jksdfhds
> 
> _i know i'm not supposed to color in the lines when it comes to you, undefined and out of mind til you get lost and lonely too_

~ 🍒 Mark 🍒 ~

The last thing on Mark’s mind on the drive to Anaheim, alone in his clunky old car, is men. 

He’s on his way to JCC to pick up a master of a song, one of the older ones he and Chris had put together. Before their awkward studio day earlier this week, Matthew had offered to help out and master the song himself, so that they didn’t have to pay for more studio time on the equipment. It just proves his huge reciprocating crush on Chris, Mark thinks. 

Okay, so Mark is thinking about men, technically.

But not romantically. Not for himself. He’s kind of a realist that way. He’s not looking for love around every turn and then running scared when he finds it, like Chris is. Mark is more practical. 

That’s probably why the universe sends him this curveball. 

“Hey, Ashley,” he calls, as he lets himself into JCC for the second time that week. 

Ashley, the employee, is on the landline phone, cradling the ugly out-of-date box phone against her cheek with one shoulder, but she beams at him. “Hi, Marky. Matt isn’t in but he left your mix on a drive on his desk. Go ‘head and get it.” 

“Gotcha.” 

He heads for the first door at the head of the hall, the one that leads into the tiny staffroom. It’s not much; a few desks crammed in so that the three staff members each have a place to work when they’re not in the studio rooms. Usually Ashley is back there herself, sorting mail and invoices and other important things that keep the business afloat. 

True to Ashley’s word, Matthew isn’t there. But another man is. 

As far as Mark knows, only Eric, Ashley, and Matthew work at this studio. He’s never seen anyone else in the staff room, and he’s never seen this particular man in his life, although Mark sort of wishes he had seen him sooner. 

He’s tall, over six feet, Mark guesses. If Matthew is six-foot-two, this man is at least that. Muscular arms peek out of his magenta t-shirt, and his hair is a carefully-messy middle part, a rich reddish brown that is probably not natural but looks fan-fucking-tastic. 

“’Scuse me,” Mark says, willing his inner coward back into the closet and summoning his best brash and awkward charm. 

The man looks up, sees Mark, and breaks into a brilliant smile. It’s kind of a stupid smile, Mark notes dumbly, crinkly and uneven and not as handsome as the man’s resting face is. But it bowls him over with its intensity. 

“Hi,” the man says, “You’re here for this?” 

He holds out a tiny plastic memory stick, with the letters “CB” scrawled on it in messy Sharpie. 

“Yeah,” says Mark, “Thanks.” 

“That means…you’re Mark,” the man says. 

“That’s…right.” 

“Nice to meet you in person. You’re here a lot, huh?” 

“I guess,” Mark agrees, “My roommate is here more, though.” 

“Chris is your roommate, right?” 

“Yeah. Do you work here?” 

“Part time,” the man answers, still grinning with a knowing glint in his eyes in a way that makes Mark think he’s lying. 

But why would he lie about something like that?

“I’m Johnny, by the way,” the man adds. 

“Johnny,” Mark repeats, “Nice to meet you too.” 

And as much as Mark would _love_ to stand here and talk to this very very hot man for the rest of the day, he DOES have stuff to do. 

Stuff, like going to Felix’s drag show and then driving him home after. The kid sent him about 90 texts apologizing for the callout on his pit hair. Which, well. Mark shaved it all yesterday, after a long serious discussion about kink and clean-shaving and personal preferences with Chris. But Felix doesn’t need to know that.

“I have to go,” Mark says sheepishly, “But I’ll see you around, maybe?” 

“I’ll do you one better,” says Johnny, holding out his hand, “Can I give you my number?” 

“What?” Mark is floored. 

“Sorry. I get told I’m kind of aggressive,” says Johnny, but he doesn’t look sorry at all. 

“Sure thing,” says Mark, still flustered. 

He hands his phone to Johnny, who types in his number carefully. God, he has huge hands…

“I don’t wanna be too creepy,” Johnny is saying, as he passes the phone back to Mark, “If I get your number, then I have to make the next move. This way, it’s on you.” 

“That’s a lot of pressure,” Mark says, his mouth working faster than his brain. 

Johnny shrugs. “I think you can handle it.” 

Mark just stares at him for a moment. What is happening? Who is this man, and how is he real? 

“Didn’t you say you had to go?” Johnny says. 

He’s laughing at Mark, but somehow it’s not mean. It’s fond, and gentle, like Mark’s just made the cutest joke in the world. Who _is this guy?_

“I do,” Mark agrees, tripping over himself as he turns to go. “I’ll see you around, then. And…talk to you soon.” 

“I hope so,” Johnny replies. 

He looks back down at the desk, still smiling away, and Mark backs out of the office. He calls a half-hearted goodbye to Ashley, who’s still on the phone, as he leaves.

As he gets into his car and sets off on the long annoying drive from Anaheim to Santa Monica to pick up Felix, Mark reflects on the experience. He might have to lay off Chris for his inability to talk to hot men. Because that? Wasn’t exactly smooth. 

But he ended up with a phone number, so it could have been worse. 

\---------------

The parking lot is packed when Mark arrives. Road Not Taken isn’t a huge club, but it’s a popular local place for up-and-coming drag queens. 

Mark hasn’t been coming around for very long, but he’s heard the story of the club’s climb to greatness from Felix a few times. Nobody gave a shit about Road Not Taken and its ugly interior and watered-down alcohol. But management hosted a Drag Race viewing party last spring that the legendary Australian queen Courtney Act showed up to, and they’ve been on the map ever since, with a re-upped stage and all new main staff. Felix cried at that party, Mark remembers, since he’s also an Australian queen. 

The jury is still out on whether Felix and Courtney Act fucked after that show. Jamie thinks there’s no way. Mark thinks they probably did. 

Regardless, Mark pulls into an employee parking space toward the back of the lot. He’s early; it’s only 10, and Felix goes on for his last stage at 10:15. He might as well watch, Mark decides, locking the car and heading for the entrance. 

The main club room is about half full when Mark goes in. There are hoards of straight girls as far as the eye can see. That’s the downside of drag being popular, Mark thinks. The straights get into it, take up all the space, and make things weird. Mark sighs, tired and queer, and weaves his way to an open table close to the stage. 

He’s lucky that the straight girls don’t come onto him, not very much. Mark thinks that his vibes aren’t heterosexual enough, even though he’s into girls too. But the queens…they have no such qualms getting all up on him. He’d be lying if he said the most fun part of coming to Felix’s drag bar wasn’t having the queens flirt with him. 

It doesn’t take long for one to approach him. She’s tall and slender and gorgeous in a frizzy blonde wig with tiny ponytails in front. Her outfit is a black minidress with Japanese characters in rhinestones down the front, and fishnet stockings covered in matching rainbow gems. Her face is all big eyes and red lipstick, pretty and contoured to the gods. 

But Mark knows this queen, so he barely blinks. 

“Hey, Mark,” she says, coming right up to wrap him in a hug from behind, draping herself over his shoulder as her fake breasts press into his back, “It’s been a while, huh?” 

“Fuck off, Hyunjin,” Mark says fondly, while the queen presses a big smacking red-lipped kiss to his cheekbone. 

“Ouch,” she pouts. 

“I’m here for my main lady Dee and you know that,” says Mark.

One of the straight girls nearby, a pretty woman in a stupid short red party dress, looks scandalized at Mark’s words. She turns to half-shout at her friend, probably about how Mark is an asshole. And a homophobe, rejecting one of the most popular queens in the venue. 

Hyunjin – or Jo, as he is now, in his drag persona – makes an offended little noise. She licks the shell of Mark’s ear playfully, and whispers right into it. 

“You’re no fun,” she tells him, “At least Chris and Jamie will play with me.” 

“I’ll play with you some other time,” Mark promises cheekily. “I’m just driving Felix home tonight. Thought I’d stop by for a few stages.” 

“It’s always Dee, never little old me.” 

Mark grins. “We can get dinner this weekend. Out of drag, if you want.”

“No need for your pity dates,” Hyunjin says haughtily. “I have a new man.” 

“Do you?” 

“He’s the sweetest little thing,” Hyunjin says, sitting down at Mark’s table and snatching two shots from another queen walking by with a tray of drinks. “He’s a musician, a rapper. Blonde, short, and really cute.” 

“I’m glad,” says Mark, “But maybe stop eating out my ears in public if you have a man.” 

Hyunjin drains one of the shot glasses, looking scandalized, “I would never deprive myself of that fun, Marky.” 

“Sure.” 

“Dee is gonna be on any minute,” Hyunjin says, “I’ll let you enjoy her.” 

She presses one last kiss to Mark’s cheek, throws back the second shot, and struts away, glossy black Louboutins clicking on the floor as she goes. 

Felix’s sets are always cute and sexy. It’s not quite the aesthetic that Mark is after in a girl, but every time he sees Felix do a stage, he understands why Felix and Chris are best friends, because they’re exactly the same in that regard. Cute and sexy, that is. They both make a living (a solid living, at that) being professionally cute and sexy for other people’s consumption.

The lights swivel to center stage, and the music starts. Felix, all dressed to the nines as his drag persona Chickadee, comes out in a lilac wig and a matching negligee, white and lacy, trimmed in exactly the same purple color as her hair. The song bumping over the speakers is something twangy and summery, a beat Mark vaguely remembers from middle school, or maybe high school? He doesn’t know the words, but it’s mesmerizing to watch Felix, as Dee, in his little dress and white sneakers, big lashes and pink lips, lipsync along. 

Mark’s not a huge drag fan, overall. He doesn’t know any famous queens and has no idea how they handle dressing up like that night after night. But he loves the way it’s so easy to imagine that the person onstage dancing and singing, all soft curves and glittery makeup, is a woman. _The_ woman, the perfect woman, the woman singing that song. 

The number ends, and Felix takes a hand mic, laughing breathlessly into it as he launches into his ment. 

“Hi everyone,” he gasps, “Oh, shit, I’m out of breath, fuck.” 

The crowd titters back, wolf-whistles rolling up from the sea of sequins and pleather. 

“I know you know, but hello,” Felix waves prettily, “It’s your babygirl, Chickadee.” 

He scans the room for a moment, under the spotlights, and when he spots Mark, he grins. 

“Oh, there’s my favorite person. Marky!” Felix calls. 

Mark blows him a kiss. 

“My ride home. Too sweet,” Felix coos, “Now…where is my _least_ favorite person?” 

He looks back into the crowd, and the audience laughs more. Mark joins them. He can tell just by the curl of Felix’s lip under that matte pink lipcolor that he’s actually pissed, and whoever he’s looking for is really pushing his buttons. 

“Jo! You dumb, bitch, where are you?” Felix nearly yells into the mic. 

Way in the back, near the bar, Hyunjin waves a manicured hand. 

“Get up here!” 

So Hyunjin parts the crowd, and climbs the stairs to the stage with a bouncer’s help. He wraps one arm tightly around Felix’s shoulder, and accepts a hand mic from a staff. 

“You rang?” Hyunjin says, “Hi, everyone, Jo Haeyo!” 

“You asshole, that was my last number,” Felix pouts, “You’re supposed to be hosting, not drinking.” 

Hyunjin just stares at Felix dreamily, which seems to piss off Felix even more. 

“What?” 

“Can I kiss you?” Hyunjin asks, breaking into a stupid smirk. 

“No.” 

“Just once?” 

“No!” Felix yelps, as Hyunjin tries to pull him closer. 

“You wouldn’t French me just once?” Hyunjin asks. 

“Absolutely not.” 

Hyunjin looks at the audience plaintively. “She doesn’t love me.” 

“I do, very much,” Felix assures him, “I just won’t French you.” 

“What is this friendship even FOR if you won’t French me?!”

\---------------

They don’t end up Frenching at all, and Felix says his goodbyes for the night as he turns the hosting over to Hyunjin. 

After about half an hour, Felix meets Mark by the stage door. He’s still in full makeup and hair, purple and pink and glittery, but he’s somehow slipped on a regular t-shirt and sweats without messing it all up. When he sees Mark, he wrinkles his nose delicately. 

“You have lipstick on your face,” Felix says. 

“That was Jo,” Mark replies, scrubbing at the spot with his hand. 

It’s a futile attempt, and Mark knows it. That’s drag queen longwear lip color, only a good makeup remover will even threaten it. 

“That whore,” Felix says. “She’s the worst. But I can’t get rid of her, she’s a ride or die.” 

“She’s pretty great,” Mark agrees. 

Felix looks at him wryly. “But don’t tell anyone I said that. I have a reputation to uphold, here.” 

“Whatever.” 

They walk outside, leaving the party scene behind. It’s only 11, and things are just beginning to ramp up inside, regardless of the fact that it’s still a work and school night for most people. 

“How was the stage?” Felix asks. 

“Perfect. I love the purple look,” Mark replies. 

“Thanks. The dye matching was a bitch.” 

They climb into the car, settling against Mark’s worn interior. Felix is just staring at Mark with a sneaky grin on his face, and it’s slightly creepy. 

“What?” 

“You look happy,” Felix says, “Really, really happy. What happened?” 

Mark hesitates. He really doesn’t want to risk giving Chris fuel to make fun of him. Anything that Felix is told gets back to Chris within the hour. But Mark has to tell someone. He might explode if he doesn’t. He really might. 

“I may have…met someone today,” Mark says delicately. 

“You _did?!_ ” Felix yells, and Mark nearly swerves out of his lane in surprise at the sudden noise. 

“Jesus!” he chokes, “Yeah, yeah.” 

“Who are they? What are they like?!” 

“It was a split-second thing,” Mark insists, “Some guy at the studio.” 

“The studio,” Felix repeats, “Do I know him? Does Chris?!” 

“I don’t even know him! He just, like, flirted super hard and gave me his number.” 

“Did you text him?” 

“Fuck no,” Mark says, “I had to drive here, what hands would I be using to text him?” 

Felix tsks. “You should have had Hyunjin help you. She’s a genius with that stuff.” 

“I wouldn’t trust her with flirting on my behalf, she’d promise stuff and then I’d have to live up to it,” Mark says. 

“That’s probably smart,” Felix agrees. “I’m glad that happened, though, Marky. You deserve a nice guy, yknow? Someone nice.” 

“I know.” 

They drive quietly for a while, the traffic basically nonexistent at this time of night, just the radio on softly in the background. Los Angeles melts away into Orange County, the landscaping growing lusher and the buildings neater and newer. 

As they pass through Long Beach, Felix pipes up, “I can text him for you, if you want. Your guy.” 

“Are you any good at it?” Mark asks. 

“Me? No,” Felix grins, “But I can pretend to be you. You’re kind of good at it, and I’m great at pretending.” 

He flutters his long drag queen lashes, and Mark laughs. 

“Go ahead and try,” Mark says, “You can’t be any worse than me.” 

Felix grabs Mark’s phone from the cupholder and enters the passcode, because nothing is a secret in this friend group. 

“What’s his name?” 

“Johnny,” Mark says, softly. 

“Johnny…” Felix scrolls for a moment, presumably in the contact book, and then turns the phone toward Mark, “This one?” 

“Yep.” 

“How sexy should I be?” 

Mark shrugs. “How sexy am I?”

“I will be…not sexy at all,” Felix decides.

“Thanks, man.” 

“You’re welcome,” Felix says sweetly. “Hey, can we stop at Gong Cha? I need boba, and they’re open ‘til midnight now.” 

Mark thinks about it for a second, and then reaches over to elbow Felix hard. “If you can get Johnny to go on a date with me, we can get Gong Cha.” 

“Mission accepted.” 

The nearest Gong Cha is across Irvine, and the next nearest one is in Westminster, both a bit of a drive from where they all live in the center of the city. It’s a fair trade. 

Felix speaks aloud as he types, “Hey…Johnny…smiley face. You were like…super…” 

He pauses, and looks at Mark for help. 

“Is he cute or hot?” 

“Hot,” Mark says, with conviction. 

“Okay,” Felix affirms, reading his own work again, “-Super hot, it surprised me. Sheepish emoji. Do you want to – what kind of date is this gonna be?” 

“What kind?” Mark repeats, startled. 

“Dinner? Dancing? A porn shoot?” 

“Dinner,” Mark decides, “I can cook.” 

Felix swoons dramatically. “Why are you single? I’ll date you, if you’re cookin’.” 

“Shut up and text.” 

So Felix dutifully recites, “Do you wanna come over for dinner this weekend? Is that okay?” 

The last part is directed at Mark, who nods slowly. 

“Send it.” 

“Sent,” Felix says, putting the phone down again. “Now we wait. Come on, Johnny, I need boba!” 

There’s no response through Alamitos, and radio silence through Fountain Valley. The miles fly by, as Mark tries not to think about Johnny ignoring the text. 

But finally, in Costa Mesa, Mark’s phone lights up. 

“Yes!” Felix yelps, snatching the device back up. 

“What did he say?” 

“’Sounds good. Saturday, early? I can do 5,’” Felix reads, “Fuck, he’s eager. Where can I get a man like this?!” 

“Tell him that’s good,” Mark says. “I’ll send him my address later.” 

“Done,” Felix says, already typing. 

A date. He has a date. With the hottest guy he’s ever seen. Mark is just barely holding back a big idiotic smile as he thinks about it. 

“You know what this means?” Felix asks, expectantly. 

“I know,” says Mark. 

He signals and flies into the next lane, ready to merge onto the 55 instead of exiting into Irvine proper to head for home. Gong Cha is calling. 

~ 🍓 Chris 🍓 ~

Literal rude awakenings are becoming a theme in Chris’s life. He’s woken up early on Friday morning (meaning at noon on Friday, earlier than he would like to be awake) by a phone call. 

He was up late last night camming. The session got a bit…heated. Mark actually came in to see if he was okay because the noises were so loud and unusual, which was helpful. Sometimes self-bondage gets tricky. Mark’s appearance on the stream tripled the number of requests for another collab between them, but the help was much appreciated. 

Chris passed out around 7AM, if his estimation is right, after a thorough shower and some late-night food. So this awakening is less than appreciated. 

He squints at the offending device, which is ringing loudly right next to his head. The volume is still up from last night. And when he gets a good look at the caller ID, he nearly shits himself. 

It’s Matthew. 

Matthew, who watched Chris’s Tuesday stream and also his Thursday stream, and who Chris has not spoken to outside of cam comments since before it all went down. Matthew, calling him. 

Chris answers. “Hello?”

He grimaces at himself, because he sounds like death. His voice is rough and broken. Maybe he did take it a little far last night…

“Hey,” says Matthew, on the other end, “Did I wake you up? You sound like shit.” 

“No,” Chris lies, badly. 

“Did I?”

“…Yeah.” 

“Shit, sorry,” Matthew says, “I’ll make it quick. I just wanted to ask you…you wanna, like, hang out this weekend?” 

“What?” Chris chokes. 

“Yeah. You’re cool, yknow? We haven’t hung out outside of the studio but we…definitely could,” Matthew says. 

“I’m sorry, my brain is off,” Chris sputters, “You want to-”

“Hang out, yeah. It doesn’t have to be, like, a date,” says Matthew smoothly, “But if you _wanted_ , it could be a lil somethin’.” 

“I’m so lost,” says Chris “You – me, you want-”

“Meet me at the Spectrum, Saturday at 1. You live in Irvine, right?” 

Matthew is just steamrolling this conversation in a way that makes Chris’s head spin. It’s not a bad thing, not at all. It’s just a lot. 

“Yeah, yes, yeah,” Chris says, scrambling for some kind of center, “Saturday, at 1, the Spectrum. Yes. I would love to.” 

“Cool,” says Matthew simply. “See you then.” 

There’s a moment of pause, where Chris wonders mildly if he’s hallucinating, and then Matthew gives a little hum. 

“Oh,” he says, “Yeah. Good job last night, Berry.” 

Matthew laughs, good-natured and wicked, and hangs up. 

It only occurs to Chris much later that night, while he’s tucked up on the couch watching Frozen 2 for the hundredth time, that Saturday is in fact tomorrow. 

He goes to bed early, out of desperation, hoping to wake up magically rested and beautiful and prepared. It’s pointless, though, because there’s no way he’s going to sleep well. Not with something like that looming over him.

\---------------

They meet at the edge of the main parking lot at the Irvine Spectrum. 

Jamie, the saint that she is, dropped Chris off a little before 1, so he has time to make an attempt to compose himself before the date. Chris takes a seat on the edge of a cement planter bed, just waiting and trying not to psych himself out. He hasn’t been on a serious date with someone he really likes since college.

Matthew cuts a distinctive figure no matter where he is, so it’s easy to spot him walking through the lot when he does finally show up. Chris just watches him walk up through the neat rows of cars. God, he’s good looking. It’s almost intimidating when Matthew stops right in front of him, in all his tall muscular glory. 

He’s dressed the same as always, in street casual. Black jeans, white tee, chains and sneakers, half-rimmed glasses. He even makes bad eyesight look sexy. Chris’s stupid heart does a little flip as he looks him over, as Matthew checks him out right back. 

“Hey,” Matthew says, “Right on time.” 

“I’m not about to keep you waiting,” Chris says, “That’s so rude.” 

Matthew laughs, “I appreciate it.” 

They walk off slowly, heading into the shopping area proper. It’s bustling with people, families and groups of teens and elderly people meandering in their little clusters. Normal, for a Saturday afternoon. The doors to all the outlets and restaurants are propped wide open, enticing customers inside with music and delicious smells and bright colors. 

“I like first dates in public,” Matthew comments, “Low pressure, y’know? Plenty to do.” 

“I agree,” Chris says, “Less chances of a murder, too.” 

Matthew laughs again. “You think I could murder you?” 

“I think _I_ could murder _you_ ,” Chris counters. 

A passing mom in jogging clothes, pushing a stroller in front of her, looks scandalized at his words. It’s her own fault for eavesdropping, Chris thinks. He catches Matthew’s eye, and they both laugh even harder. 

“Oh, yeah, did you listen to that master?” Matthew asks, “I think Mark picked it up for you the other day.” 

Chris nods enthusiastically, “We played it the other day. It’s great!” 

“Thank fuck.” 

“Did you record that new backing medley yourself?” Chris asks. 

They didn’t ask for it, but one of the things that was different in the new master that Matthew had done is a background vocal medley under Mark’s own vocals. Chris had noticed it right away. It made a big difference; obviously Matthew knows what he’s doing.

Matthew shakes his head, “Eric did. He’s a super bomb vocalist.” 

“I’ll have to thank him next time.” 

“I always wonder why he doesn’t sing, like, professionally,” Matthew says thoughtfully. 

“Maybe he does,” Chris jokes. 

As Matthew laughs, Chris can feel himself relaxing. Truth be told, there’s nothing dramatic or romantic or striking about this date. Which is a huge comfort, as far as Chris is concerned. 

That’s always the part of dating men that makes Chris the most nervous: the spectacle of it. Dating girls is easy, since people expect to see hetero couples holding hands and being cute. That heteronormative state runs deep. But two men, especially when one is as big and masc as Matthew, that draws some looks from strangers. 

It’s not that he’s afraid, or ashamed. He’s just…hyperaware. Sometimes he thinks it would be easier to just be into men. More clear-cut. 

But they’re not doing anything unusual today. Matthew drags him to different streetwear boutiques and athleticwear shops, pointing out dupes of luxury brands when they pop up – “You see that stitching? Last year’s Fendi line” – and putting together ridiculous outfits off the rack. 

They spend a lot of time looking at earrings, for some reason. It feels a lot like just hanging out with a new friend. Except for the way that Chris wants to explode every time Matthew looks at him. When he holds up a pair of earrings to Chris’s face to check the style, or asks his size for a garment, Chris can feel that soft mushy affection welling up in his chest. Matthew sends him that lopsided, crinkly smile, and it’s nearly too much. He might really explode. 

They find themselves at a fruit cart after a couple hours, looking over the menu while coolers full of brightly-colored fruit juice tumble in front of them. 

Chris doesn’t have any experience with Mexican-style fruit juice and aguas frescas. The chili and lime options, the sugar options, they all just spread out in front of him like a slightly intimidating wall of new flavors. So when Matthew looks at him expectantly for an order, he just shrugs. 

“Get your favorite,” Chris says. 

“You got it,” Matthew agrees, and tells the cashier, “One mango and Tajin.” 

“Tajin?” Chris repeats, “Like, chili?” 

“Hell yeah, best combo,” Matthew says. 

Shit.

Chris sincerely does not know how to tell Matthew that he’s the worst at eating spicy food. He loves it, it tastes great. But hotpot, hot wings, jalapeno poppers…they’re all just a little hot for him. Just a little. Or a lot. So he just stares nervously as the woman inside the stand prepares the vivid orange and red concoction, and slides the finished cup down the counter to Matthew. 

Just looking at it is enough to make Chris’s mouth hurt. 

They claim one of the patio tables nearby, under the shade of a big multicolored umbrella, and Matthew immediately digs in. He spoons through the top layer of fresh mango, caked in Tajin, and has the audacity to act like it’s no big deal. Chris takes his own spoon gingerly, scrapes off the least-seasoned piece of fruit, and eats it. 

He chokes on the spice immediately. He’s sputtering around a half-bite of sweet mango covered in red demon dust, and Matthew just watches him in mild concern. 

“You good?” Matthew asks. 

“It’s-” Chris pauses to cough, “-kind of-”

Matthew laughs. “You think Tajin is spicy? Oh, God.” 

He laughs harder, but it’s obvious that he’s not making fun of Chris or anything. It’s just happy, and raucously loud. He redirects the straw stuck into the drink toward Chris.

“Here, just go for the juice one time,” Matthew says.

So Chris sips at it. The juice, of course, is just a mango strawberry fusion thing that’s delightful and sweet and not spicy. 

“You shoulda told me,” Matthew says, amused. “I could’ve just gotten you a juice and not a Mangonada.”

“I didn’t wanna kill your vibe,” Chris says. 

“You almost killed _yourself_ ,” Matthew replies, “Plus, there’s no vibe at all if you’re not having fun.” 

Chris can feel himself blushing spectacularly at that, red all the way to the tips of his ears. He’s defenseless against sweet things like that. 

“Cute as hell,” Matthew mumbles around his spoon. 

It’s like he’s just trying to see how far he can push, Chris thinks desperately, feeling the blush creep down his neck. What a considerate, complimentary asshole. Matthew looks very pleased with himself, an evil glint in his eye, as he leans forward in his chair toward Chris. 

“You know, you still got a lil Tajin, right…” Matthew points at his own bottom lip, “Right here.” 

Chris picks up his phone, meaning to use the screen reflection as a mirror to fix it. But Matthew grabs his wrist and returns the device and his hand to the tabletop gently. Chris swears he can feel the tension around them get thicker.

“No, no, I got it,” Matthew says. 

And then Matthew is kissing him slow and dirty, sucking Chris’s bottom lip into his mouth ever so slightly, as if to truly get off that smudge of chili powder. 

After a moment, Matthew leans back into his seat, nonchalant and unaffected, and Chris is practically panting. If only his Whiplash viewers could see him now, he thinks, this desperate and empty-headed over a fantastic but admittedly short kiss. 

Chris catches his breath, looking around as surreptitiously as he can, making sure that no one is, like, calling the police on them for being gay in public. 

Faster than his brain can censor the though, Chris says, “You wanna go back to my place?” 

Matthew smirks. “It’s kinda early to be pulling that one.” 

“I don’t care.” 

“Can’t argue with that.” 

They do finish the juice, though. There’s not much hurry, not after a prequel like that, so they make conversation for a while longer, until all that’s left in the cup is a ring of Tajin. Chris hopes idly that Mark isn’t doing anything stupid at home. He hadn’t told his roommate that he was going on a date, so it’ll be a complete surprise if Chris shows up with a guy. A guy that Mark knows and likes, too. 

As they leave the plaza, Matthew slings what could easily look like a friendly arm around Chris’s shoulders. It’s innocent enough. 

But Chris knows better.

~ 🍒 Mark 🍒 ~

There’s a knock on the door right as Mark is securing the lock on the toy closet. 

Johnny doesn’t seem like a prude. Mark didn’t get that impression from their one single in-person conversation. But still. It’s a closet full of dildos. That’s a lot for any person to deal with, especially on a first date. 

The house is empty. Chris is out, which is super lucky, since Mark didn’t actually tell Chris about his date. It slipped his mind, at first, and then he was just…embarrassed, which makes no sense. Regardless, Chris is out with a friend, and Mark hopes that that friend (either Felix, Jamie, Ten, or Lucas, he’d be willing to bet) will keep him busy past dinnertime. Chris doesn’t even know Johnny exists. 

But Johnny does exist, and he’s punctual to the minute, Mark notes, as he passes the clock on the living room wall. It’s 4:59. There’s a chicken taco filling mixture roasting in the oven, chicken breast and veggies. The whole house smells like chipotle peppers and cilantro, warm and satisfying. Mark double checks his outfit (his best collarless white shirt under a jean jacket, nice but not trying too hard) and opens the door. 

Johnny looks as perfect as he did the other day, a blazer layered over a tee and tailored pants. They have to be tailored, he’s so fuckin’ tall. His face and hair are still unbelievable, and Mark spares a thought for how ridiculous it is to have someone who looks like _that_ here for a date. 

“Hey,” Johnny says. 

He’s wearing an expression that Mark can only describe as a smize. A smile that’s more in his eyes than on his mouth. 

“Hi,” Mark replies, eloquently. 

“I brought you avocados,” Johnny says, holding out a plastic produce bag. 

Mark had told him the menu beforehand, and emphasized that Johnny didn’t need to bring anything, but of course, he did anyway. 

“An avocado,” Mark quotes, taking the bag, “Thaaaanks.” 

“Don’t quote Vine at me,” Johnny says, “Vine is dead.” 

“You can’t speak like that in my home,” Mark counters. 

Johnny just shrugs and grins, and they come properly inside. Mark carries the avocados into the kitchen and dumps them out on the counter, while Johnny takes off his shoes and settles in.

“Am I making the guac or are you?” Johnny asks. 

“Who said we’re having guac?” 

Johnny grins. “Well, I brought avocados. And I have a secret recipe.” 

“Then be my guest,” Mark says. “The filling should be done in a couple minutes. I’m gonna warm tortillas.” 

So Johnny slings off his blazer, letting out those buff arms, and comes into the kitchen with Mark. He’s got no shame at all, Mark notices, as Johnny grabs a knife from the knife block with no prompting and begins opening the avocados. Not just anyone can settle into a stranger’s home like that. This guy is either completely socially inept, or the most confident and socially adept person on Earth. 

“Do you do music full-time?” Johnny asks suddenly, cutting a neat circle through the avocado flesh.

“No,” Mark laughs, “It’s a hobby. I could never make rent doing just that.” 

“What do you do for cash?” 

“Sales,” Mark says automatically, “Retail.” 

It’s not technically a lie. He does do sales. He’s selling his naked body on the internet. But, y’know. That’s a cash transaction. 

“Cool,” Johnny says, blessedly not pressing the issue any farther.

“What about you? Have you worked at the C for long?” Mark asks. 

“The C,” Johnny repeats, grinning. “Yeah, for a long time. I come in at odd hours, though.” 

“I’ve definitely never seen you there,” Mark says. 

Johnny shrugs, and lobs an avocado pit into the trash. “Lucky break the other day, then.”

“Lucky for me, or lucky for you?” 

“Lucky for you,” Johnny smirks. “Onions? Tomato?” 

“Produce drawer,” Mark replies. 

Unsurprisingly, Johnny goes right to the fridge to dig around on his own. Mark just watches him out of the corner of his eye, while flipping his tortillas on the frying pan. It’s strangely domestic, a weird tension. Mark does barely know this guy, and he _is_ holding a knife. But Johnny seems SO comfortable. 

Mark wonders if this is just Johnny’s personality, or if he’s just this comfortable with Mark, specifically. 

“You said you’re a part-timer. Do you have another job?” Mark asks. 

Johnny nods. “I work in cafes. I was always a coffee hound, it was a natural progression.” 

“Like a barista?” 

“…Yeah.” 

The look that Johnny gives him seems to be laced with some kind of expectation, but Mark doesn’t know why. Does he think Mark is going to judge him or something? 

The timer for the oven goes off, and Mark retrieves his pan of chicken and veggies from the oven. By the time he has it settled on the burner to cool, Johnny has a bowl of guacamole ready, and some pico de gallo for good measure. Somehow. 

“Damn, you’re good,” Mark says. 

Johnny just beams at him, and it’s overwhelmingly sweet and genuine. Mark has to look away. He flips the last tortilla, and deems the meal finished. 

“Hungry?” he asks. 

“Starving,” Johnny replies. 

“Perfect.” 

They bring the filling, the toppings, and the tortillas over to the little dining table off the kitchen. Mark and Chris barely ever use it, preferring to just hang out in the kitchen or on the couch when they eat. But this is a date, so they’re going to eat at a table like civilized folk. It’s a bit early for dinner, but Mark hopes that Chris is going to stay out late. 

Mark is very interested to find out if Johnny’s dick is as huge as the rest of him. 

As it turns out, Mark is just not that lucky. They’ve filled their plates with piping hot tacos and fresh vegetables and have just begun eating when the front door opens. 

“Mark?” comes Chris’s voice from the entry, tentative. 

“I’m here,” Mark says. 

“I have, uh…company,” Chris says. 

The implication is clear, and Mark blanches. A date? A fuckbuddy? Here? Now? 

“Oh,” Mark says, “Me…me too.” 

Chris’s head pops around the corner. “Oh.” 

As if on cue, Chris comes fully into the space, and right behind him is Big Matthew, from the studio. In different circumstances, Mark would be unbelievably proud, but now he’s not sure what he feels about it. Johnny takes one look at Matthew and chokes on a bite of chicken. Matthew’s eyes blow wide behind his glasses. 

“Johnny?” Matthew says, incredulous. 

“ _Matt?_ ” 

“Oh, God,” Mark groans. 

“You know each other?” Chris asks, bewildered. 

“We work together,” Johnny says quickly, to Chris, “At JCC. You’re Chris, right?” 

“I am,” Chris agrees, still looking completely lost. “And you are…?” 

“I’m Johnny.” 

“He’s my boss,” Matthew says suddenly. “Dude, I’m sorry. We busted in on your date, huh?” 

“Your boss?” Mark repeats. 

Now nothing makes any sense at all. Chris is on a date with Matthew, after struggling to even look at him for so long. Johnny is Matthew’s boss at JCC, even though Johnny’s only ever been at the studio once, in the months and months Mark’s been there, and he’s never been mentioned at all. That doesn’t line up at all with what Johnny explained to him. But Mark doesn’t have time to puzzle it over, because Matthew gives a little wave, looking distinctly uncomfortable. 

“I better bounce, then. Don’t wanna disturb you guys,” he says. 

He winks, and disappears. And Chris, looking like he’s been slapped in the face, follows. Johnny is just quietly eating his taco, staring at the spot where they’d been standing.

“What was THAT?” Mark asks him. 

“I think I scared him,” Johnny sighs.

“Why would Matt be scared of you?!” 

Johnny shrugs. “I dunno, what if a guy brought you home and your boss was there waiting for you?” 

“I guess,” Mark cedes. 

Chris comes back inside a moment later, looking disgruntled and disappointed. He comes up to the table and wordlessly assembles himself a taco, and carries it away. Mark hears his door slam, and music starts up inside his room. 

Johnny sighs again.

When all the food is gone, a short while later, Johnny just stands up and says, “I should be going soon.” 

“What?” Mark asks, “Are you…are you not having a good time?” 

“I absolutely am,” Johnny assures him, “But I think your friend isn’t. And I think you should talk to him about it.” 

Inside, Mark knows he’s right. This is partially his fault, for not mentioning that he wanted the house to himself for the night. Now he’s cut both of their dates short. Something weird happened, for sure, and it wouldn’t be right to have Johnny stay over knowing Chris was right across the hall alone, blue-balling it because of something Mark did. 

“Alright,” Mark says quietly. 

“I’ll do dishes,” Johnny says.

“You don’t have to-”

“I want to,” Johnny assures him, gathering the plates and walking them to the kitchen.

Mark watches his ass as he walks away. So much for seeing what Johnny is packing.

\---------------

Johnny presses a quick kiss to Mark’s lips as he leaves. 

It’s very sweet and gentle, a nice gesture to show that he did really have a nice time, but it just makes Mark yearn for what he could be getting tonight. The door closes behind Johnny, and Mark can just feel the dissatisfaction crawling under his skin. He was expecting have sex tonight. Hoping, at least. And now, nothing. 

The melancholic music is still bumping from Chris’s room, though, and that quickly kills any kind of sexy mood. Johnny was right about that; they do need to talk. 

Mark wanders over and knocks on Chris’s bedroom door. 

“Come in,” comes Chris’s voice, very very small. 

So Mark goes in. Chris is on his bed, spread-eagle, still in his nice outfit from earlier. He’s staring up at the ceiling, looking just kind of lost. Mark can relate. 

“That was a fucking mess,” Mark says. 

“You’re tellin’ me,” Chris mutters. 

“What happened back there?” 

Chris glances down at Mark. “I don’t know who that guy is, but he really freaked Matt out.” 

“That’s Johnny,” Mark says, “I met him the other day. He works at JCC, that’s why.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” Mark nods, “I didn’t know you were out with Matthew.” 

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing a date home,” Chris replies. 

“Miscommunication. Gotta love it.” 

“Ha.” 

“Can I?” Mark asks, gesturing up the bed. 

Chris nods, and Mark crawls up the comforter to wrap himself around Chris like a koala. He throws one leg over Chris’s, and grips him with one arm, his head on Chris’s shoulder. Just a human weighted blanket. 

“Sorry I crashed your date,” Chris says. 

“Sorry I cockblocked you.” 

“The tacos were really good.” 

“They really were,” Mark agrees. “But I was gonna be the dessert.” 

“Mood,” says Chris. “I think we need to set up some do-over dates. Think Johnny would go out with you again?” 

“He kissed me, so yeah, I think so.” 

Chris gasps. “And Matt kissed me!” 

Mark wrenches his arm up to give Chris a high-five. 

“You can have the house this time,” Mark offers. 

Chris shakes his head. “I wanna go out again, it was fun today. But we should probably have our dates on different days. Hopefully we won’t run into each other that way.” 

“Probably for the best,” Mark agrees. 

“What a fucking mess,” Chris sighs. 

Mark groans, as he remembers that it’s Saturday. “Oh, man, I don’t wanna cam tonight. But I also do…because…” 

“Blue balled,” Chris finishes. 

“Yep.” 

“Want me to help you rig up the scarves?” 

“Nah. Too lazy.” 

Chris grins down at Mark, “Were you gonna make Johnny-”

“No!” Mark protests. “I was going to politely ask if he wanted to. You can’t _make_ a guy sleep with you on camera, shit.” 

“So much for that.” 

They fall quiet again. Mark tucks himself more firmly against Chris’s side, just settling into the human contact. He wonders, in a different world where they weren’t just friends who clicked over music and were actually attracted to each other, what could have been. Would alternate-universe Chris and Mark have dated? Would it have lasted? Would the sex be good?

“Hey,” Mark says.

“Yeah?” Chris answers. 

“Will you jerk me off for one hundred dollars?” 

Chris laughs. “Are you that fuckin’ lazy?” 

“Look, I MIGHT have hinted at a collab last night on the stream, and the fans are gonna be pissed if I show up solo,” Mark says. 

“I’ll do it for fifty,” Chris replies. 

“You drive a hard bargain,” Mark hums, “But deal.” 

“Do you want me in full makeup and stuff?” 

“If you don’t mind.” 

“Ugh.” 

Usually when they do collabs, Chris ends up subbing and Mark ends up domming. Or something to that effect. It’s not because either of them wants to be a dom, because they’re both disgusting lazy bottoms, pillow princesses. Their cam personas are just so damn strong. Chris’s persona is so gentle, and Mark’s is so prickly, it’s easier to just fall together that way. 

Their work together isn’t all that steamy, but it’s intimate, and it’s easy enough to pass off intimacy as sexy.

\---------------

Later that night, when Mark finds himself in nothing but a pair of panties, with glitter smeared across his face from Chris’s performing makeup, Chris’s hand covered in lube, both of their phones ping in tandem. For the briefest moment, Mark breaks character and peeks at the screen, and he can see Chris straining to look at his own phone in surprise. 

Mark getting paid is a given, but Chris isn’t even online. Basic collab etiquette is to just pay whoever’s channel is streaming the collab. Their fans know that, by and large, not to mention that it’s easy to just pay the person whose channel is live on the damn site. But nope. 

They’ve both gotten $1000 from user Johrista. 

~ 🍓 Chris 🍓 ~

Unsurprisingly, it’s Ten who comes up with the solution for Chris and Matthew’s do-over date. 

Lucas and Felix kidnapped Mark for the evening to do God knows what, so Ten and Jamie are over at the apartment to watch movies and drink with Chris. He’d been recounting the disaster of a first date, how it was fine right up until he and Mark mutually ruined each other’s nights. Jamie doesn’t even make fun of him, not even a little, which is landmark and also validates to Chris how much of a shitshow it actually was. 

“You just need to go on a double date,” Ten says. 

“A double date,” Chris repeats. 

“Yeah. The extra social cushion will make it less awkward. And you can do more stuff in a group. Bowling, the bar, dancing, that stuff’s easier with a group,” Ten says, expression bored and superior as he does a full split on the living room floor. 

Jamie is just watching him, looking disgusted. “He’s right. I dunno how his balls are okay, but he’s right.” 

“I don’t know any couples,” Chris says. 

“Well…” Ten glances at Jamie, and she nods, so he says, “We can just be the other couple. Play boyfriend-girlfriend for the day.” 

Chris violently flashes back to his breakfast with Felix and Lucas, their determination to make Ten and Jamie into a couple. They would just _love_ a chance like this, to meddle and prove that they’re really into each other. 

“Oh, you don’t have to-”

“No worries,” Ten interrupts, “We’re each other’s beards anyway.” 

“Holiday dates, too,” Jamie agrees.

Chris blinks. “What?” 

“You know, when your sexist great aunt is like, ‘where’s your boyfriend? Why are you single?!’ I bring Ten to those parties,” she says. 

“Why aren’t you _my_ beard?” Chris asks, offended, since he’s known Jamie for much longer. 

“Because that would be weird.” 

“Why?!” 

“It just would!” 

“You’re changing the subject,” Ten says. “Just text that guy and ask him out for a double date. It can be in public again.” 

“Can we go up to LA?” Jamie asks. 

“No, let’s do Fashion Island,” says Ten. 

“Ew, why?” 

“It’s closer to my house. I’m not driving into the city!”

The two of them keep bickering. Though Chris hates to admit it, they’re right on track with the double date idea. It _would_ help to have a buffer, after taking such a confidence hit when Matthew just up and ran out on him. And out of all his friends, Jamie and Ten are the best options for a double date. By far. 

So he bites the bullet and sends Matthew a text, asking if he wants to come out to Irvine for another date, a group thing with some friends. He gets an almost instantaneous response. 

big matthew: **sounds cool :)**  
big matthew: **i know u work tues night so how bout wed? i have a shift at the c but u guys can meet me after**

It’s kind of out of the way, to go all the way up to Anaheim just to pick up Matthew, who has his own car. But Chris doesn’t care. 

chris: **sure. what time?**  
big matthew: **like 4?**

“Are you guys busy at 4 on Wednesday?” Chris asks. 

“Busy, during work hours on a weekday?” Jamie deadpans, “Of course not.” 

“I can be free,” Ten agrees. 

“Okay, cool.” 

Double date it is. 

\---------------

The thing that Chris had totally forgotten about picking up Matthew from JCC is the tiny detail of having to face the other employees. 

Multiple people work at the studio, by nature of it being a functioning business. And Chris is friends with those people, by virtue of being an active patron of said business. He realizes his fuckup when he walks in the front door and Eric whistles at him. 

“Chris, you clean up nice,” Eric teases. 

“Thank you?” 

Admittedly, Chris usually comes to JCC in a state of blatant disarray, in pajamas or sweats, only partially conscious. Today he’s wearing real clothes, since this is a date, so he tries not to be, like, actually offended. 

“What’s the occasion?” Eric asks. 

Chris freezes. Does Eric know? CAN Eric know? 

Luckily, he doesn’t have to answer, because Matthew comes out of the back, looking like something out of Chris’s wildest wet dreams in a black hoodie and dark jeans. Chris admittedly has strange fantasies. And very specific taste.

“A date,” Matthew says. 

“Oh, cool,” Eric replies, already half-distracted 

Matthew comes over and throws his arm around Chris’s shoulder playfully, and only then does Eric really look up and take notice. His mouth falls open like cartoon. 

“Wait. You mean-”

“Great to see you!” Chris interrupts, “Come on, let’s go.” 

He tries to hurry Matthew out the door, and his huge hanger-on acquiesces easily. 

But Eric gets in a good, “Oh my GOD, FINALLY. Chris, I’m SO PROUD-” before the glass door swings shut behind them. 

They’re climbing into the backseat of Ten’s very, very nice four-door sedan when Eric pops out the front door, clutching his hands over his heart like a proud mother, dedicated to this bit that he’s started. The car windows are all down, so they can hear him still shouting his support. 

“I LOVE YOU. MAKE GOOD CHOICES. CALL ME WHEN YOU’RE ON YOUR WAY HOME!” 

“Who the fuck is that?” Jamie asks. 

“Eric,” Chris sighs. 

“He’s a fuckin’ psycho,” Jamie says, her lip curling with disgust. 

Matthew laughs, and Jamie turns around with a big beaming smile, completely in contrast with the way she’d just been looking. 

“I’m Jamie,” she says, “Nice to meet you.” 

“Matthew.” 

“We’ve heard about you,” Ten says, from the driver’s seat. 

“That’s not intimidating at all,” Matthew grins. 

“Oh, don’t worry. We’ll go easy on you,” says Ten. 

Really, Chris thinks, this is just a trial by fire for his potential situationship with Matthew. If Matthew can survive a day out with Ten and Jamie, he’s strong enough to be sticking around. 

\---------------

An hour and forty-one minutes into the day, all is going well. Really ridiculously well. 

Ten and Jamie spend so much collective time teasing and poking and otherwise generally making Chris’s life more difficult, he forgets how funny and charming they can be. They make good conversation with Matthew, not overbearing, but just involved enough, as the four of them window-shop and enjoy the sunshine. 

They’re at Pain du Monde brunch café at Fashion Island mall, getting breakfast for dinner. Matthew is inside collecting their food, and Ten and Jamie have claimed a table for the four of them. Chris is about to join them under the green shade umbrella, when he notices something out of the corner of his eye. 

There’s a disturbance, in the bushes that surround the dining patio. Normally, it would be easy to chalk it up to a bird or a squirrel. But this disturbance is a streak of bright red and blue. Kind of like dyed hair. Very particular, very annoying dyed hair. 

Chris sighs so heavily that he’s surprised he doesn’t pass out, and steels himself for what’s about to happen. He approaches the suspicious Pantone bush. 

“What the FUCK are you doing?” he hisses. 

Felix Lee and Lucas Wong peek up at him from where they’re crouching, leaning half into the hedge like the definition of deranged. Neither of them looks particularly guilty, or even bothered, which is infuriating. 

“Shut up, you’re gonna blow our cover!” Lucas insists in a whisper. 

“What are you doing here?” Chris repeats. 

“We told you about our plan, dude. Ten and Jamie! This is the perfect chance!” 

“They’re just doing me a favor,” Chris says, “Go away.” 

Felix looks at him, starry-eyed. “So you ARE helping us!” 

“No!” 

“Yes,” Lucas counters, “You had them come out on a date. You’re part of this.” 

“Go _away_ ,” Chris says again. 

“No. We can do whatever we want,” Lucas says, “Free fucking country.” 

“I swear to God, I’ll end you both. How did you even know we’d be here?!” Chris asks, exasperated.

“Mark told us,” says Felix. 

Mark fucking Lee. Chris regrets touching his gross tsundere dick more than ever. He didn’t deserve that stellar handy, not if this is how he’s gonna behave. Fucking asshole. 

“If you ruin this date for me…” Chris warns. 

“You won’t even notice we’re here,” Lucas insists. “This isn’t even the first time we’ve followed them. They never see us.” 

“You just…do this?” 

Felix nods. “All week, man. They hang out a LOT.” 

Chris can’t. He really can’t. So he goes back to the table, willing his stalkers in the bushes to disappear or get removed by mall security or something. Ten and Jamie didn’t notice a thing, because Matthew has since returned with the food. 

“Everything okay?” Matthew asks. 

“…Yeah,” says Chris grudgingly. 

There’s no good way to explain what’s happening, so he doesn’t even try. His panini is fucking good, though, so he can push their antics out of his mind for a moment. Never mind that he can _hear_ them talking and laughing from inside the meager hedge. 

His friends are inside a hedge watching him have dinner with his date and their two other friends. What the fresh holy fuck is Chris’s life?

When the four of them finish eating and leave the café, Lucas and Felix follow. Chris can see them, plain as day, as he and Matthew hold hands and trail a little bit behind. Ten and Jamie are making a beeline for Neiman Marcus, unaware of the batshit crazy parade they’re leading across the most bougie block in Newport Beach.

Chris was worried about Matthew surviving a day with Ten and Jamie. He was so unfortunately wrong about that, he laments. They’re not the people he needs to be worried about. 

\---------------

Chris doesn’t know or care much for designer clothes. They’re expensive and usually not all that attractive looking and he would rather just wear the same black shirt every day than even bother trying to learn about it all. But Matthew apparently knows and cares a lot, because he’s just as excited as Ten and Jamie are to look at the season lines on display in the windows of the designer outlets. 

He can barely keep up as Matthew rattles off details about the colors and the stitching and the silhouettes. He did that last time, too, Chris remembers. Fashion must really be a thing for him. 

It’s kind of cute, watching someone be so passionate about their interests. Chris just goes along for the proverbial ride. It helps that Matthew doesn’t let go of his hand for the entire time. Ten notices it, glancing down at their joined hands and then sending Chris a wink. 

As they move across the floor, through the departments, from window to window, Matthew’s hands migrate. He’ll hold Chris’s waist while pointing out something, stroke the base of his neck absently, tug a beltloop on his jeans to get his attention. It’s driving Chris crazy. He can’t even tell if Matthew is doing it on purpose to rile him up, or if it’s just innocent affection. 

He finds out when they’re in front of the Louis Vuitton store. Ten is complaining about how ugly he finds the signature brown print, and Matthew calmly, slowly wraps his whole big hand around Chris’s throat from behind. His fingers don’t quite meet, and he’s not even gripping hard. Just resting his hand there, like a horrible tease. 

But the effect on Chris is the same. His brain screams ‘COLLAR,’ that stupid gut reaction he’s trained himself into with that stupid pink collar comes roaring up. He looks back at Matthew with wide eyes, and is met with a sneaky smile. 

Oh, yeah. Matthew _knows_ , doesn’t he? 

Damn it. Matthew watches Chris cam, he knows all of that shit. He knows exactly what he’s doing, throwing Chris headlong into subspace in the middle of a crowded department store. 

So Chris makes a hasty excuse about the bathroom, knowing and not caring that Jamie will definitely know that he’s lying, and drags Matthew away. He’s been to this department store plenty of times, and knows that there’s an inlet right outside the bathrooms. It serves mostly as a split between the men’s and women’s restrooms, but there’s a bit of a sheltered corner right outside the maintenance closet. A nook that would be perfect for a little thrill. Not, like, a dicking. But some shenanigans. 

He’s not shy. Not now. Invoking his camboy habits has really done a number on him. He feels like a fucking superhero. A _fucking_ superhero.

“Something wrong?” Matthew asks innocently, as they fastwalk toward the restroom sign. 

“You’re the worst,” says Chris. 

“I don’t think so.” 

“I do.” 

Unfortunately, Chris is not the only person who knows about that nook, because when they get to the bathrooms, there’s already a couple there. The two people, one larger and one smaller, are pressed right into the corner. A passerby probably wouldn’t even notice. Chris is about to mumble an apology and bolt, but he takes a second look and nearly breaks his neck with the whiplash. 

“ _ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?_ ” 

It’s Felix and Lucas. 

It’s fucking Felix and Lucas. Felix’s back is to them, and Lucas’s pants are unbuttoned, unzipped, exposing a dangerous few inches of colorful boxer shorts. Felix’s hand snaps back from the waistband of those boxers when he hears Chris’s voice. 

“Can you be quieter, please?” Felix snaps, “I’m not trying to get arrested today.” 

“Could’ve fooled me!” Chris says. 

Felix huffs. “This doesn’t concern you.” 

“Lucas, put your pants back on,” Chris demands. 

Lucas, frozen in place and red-cheeked, looking for all the world like a scolded little kid, obeys. Even though Felix whines as he buttons and zips and buckles himself back to propriety. 

“Are you two fucking insane?” Chris asks. 

“These are friends of yours?” Matthew asks him. 

“Unfortunately, yes.” 

Felix smiles that brilliant, wide smile that makes most people melt on the spot. “I’m Felix, and he’s Lucas.” 

“Matthew. Nice to meet you.” 

Felix turns to Chris with a euphoric expression on his face. He has an enormous hickey right under his jaw. 

“I _knew_ you were speaking to a man!” Felix says. “You lied to me on the phone!” 

“I didn’t-”

“Wait, YOU TWO were coming to get busy back there!” Felix realized, interrupting, “You have no right to scold me, hang on!” 

“I promised your mother I wouldn’t let you get arrested, murdered, shotgun married, or deported!” Chris replies, “And I intend to keep my promise, Felix!” 

“Are…all of your friendships like this?” Matthew asks. 

Chris hesitates. “…Yeah.” 

“Why?” 

“Because my friends are sexy egomaniacs, and Mark’s friends are sexy idiots, and when he and I became best friends our groups blended into a huge disaster,” Chris says. 

“You think I’m sexy?” Felix asks. 

“You think I’m an idiot?” asks Lucas, looking wounded. 

Chris rounds back on them, “And anyway, what happened to setting up Ten and Jamie?!” 

Lucas pipes up, “You know, they’re good friends but they have NO sexual chemistry.” 

“And we realized, you know who does? Us,” Felix says, gesturing between Lucas and himself. 

Chris rubs his temples with his forefingers so hard that he thinks he might be making divots in his skull. “Oh my fucking God. You two need to go HOME.” 

“You’re such a killjoy, you know that?” Felix grumbles. 

But they do both try to make themselves look more presentable, tucking shirts back in and unruffling hair. Together, they leave the bathroom nook, and Chris watches them until they leave Neiman Marcus entirely. Whatever they do outside, away from Chris, is the responsibility of God and the Fashion Island mall police. 

“They ruin everything,” Chris mutters. “I purposefully wanted them nowhere near this. I knew they’d do something stupid, but this is a surprise even to me.” 

Matthew shrugs. “I’m not gonna ask no questions. They seem hella fun, though. No complaints here.” 

“God, you’re perfect,” Chris says, before his brain can stop his mouth. 

Matthew laughs, practically yells with the intensity of it. Chris has never met someone who laughs quite as much as he does. It’s exciting. It’s endearing.

As he calms down, Matthew herds Chris in close by the scruff of the neck again, pulling them chest to chest (as well as they can, with Matthew being a fucking giant and Chris being…perfectly average, thanks). They’ve never been this close before, they definitely haven’t. Chris would remember the larger-than-average shape he’s feeling through Matthew’s jeans. 

He reaches down like a person with no shame, because he’s a person with no shame, and palms at the outline of Matthew’s dick. 

“Perfect,” he repeats, with a wicked grin. 

“Not in public,” Matthew replies, “What did you just say to your friends?” 

Chris pouts. “I was thinking with my head when I said that. I’m not, now.” 

“Later,” Matthew promises. 

He kisses Chris quickly, and saunters back out into the mall like nothing even happened. Which, it didn’t. Ugh. Chris resists the urge to stamp his foot like a six-year-old having a tantrum, and follows after him.

\---------------

Ten has to work a few hours that night, so when they pile into the car just after sundown, it’s decided that they’ll drop off Jamie, then Chris, and then Ten will take Matthew back to JCC. Chris isn’t sure how he feels about Ten having any amount of alone time with Matthew, but that’s the most logical plan. So he’s not gonna make a scene. 

That’s the plan, at least, until they pull up in front of Chris and Mark’s apartment. 

“On second thought,” says Ten, “Matt, why don’t you stay here?” 

“No,” Chris says, “We can’t inconvenience Mark like that.” 

“Mark’s not home,” says Ten innocently. 

“What?” 

“He’s not home.” 

As if on cue, as if he and Ten are linked through some kind of freaky-ass empathy link, Chris’s phone pings with a text from Mark. 

mork<3: **lucas and lix took me out to dinner**  
mork<3: **lix has a huge fuckin hickey?**  
mork<3: **much to discuss. be home idk. have sex in your room not on the couch.**

Well. That’s Mark’s blessing, and they have the house to themselves. That’s really all Chris needs. 

“Okay, then…do you wanna stay?” he asks Matthew. 

“As if that’s even a question,” Ten cuts in, “Get out of my car.” 

Matthew climbs out of the passenger’s seat, and Ten speeds off as soon as the door is closed, doing easily over 40 in the 15 MPH residential area. 

Unless Mark has been pulling some real sneaky business behind Chris’s back, this is the first time one of them has brought someone home with the express purpose of fucking. They’re going to break in the new apartment. The responsibility of it all is almost daunting. 

“You know what’s weird about this?” Matthew says suddenly, as Chris is unlocking the front door.

“What?” 

“I’ve seen you naked, like, a lot. But you’ve only seen me fully dressed,” says Matthew. “That’s almost unfair.” 

“It is unfair,” Chris agrees. 

“You know what’s even weirder?” 

“What?” 

Matthew smirks. “I think you might let me hit it one time.” 

“I think you might be right.” 

Never in his life has Chris been more thankful that, behind closed doors, he’s a nasty slut with no filter and no shame who’ll try anything once. He’s gonna blow this dude’s mind. 

~ 🍒 Mark 🍒 ~

It’s both a surprise and a relief when Matthew comes out of Chris’s bedroom on Thursday morning and stumbles shirtless and rumpled into the kitchen, where Mark is making coffee. A relief, because Chris is at least being consistent and actually pursuing his crush, and a surprise because Chris actually managed to make it this far.

Mark can barely believe it. Chris and Matthew…had _sex_. He’s so proud.

“Oh, hey,” says Matthew, in a gravelly morning voice.

Mark looks him up and down, taking in the fingernail marks and hickeys dotting Matthew’s ridiculous muscles. “Morning. Looks like you had quite a night.” 

“You know it,” he grins. 

“Good.” 

“Your boy’s a freak,” Matthew says. 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“You do know,” he agrees, appreciatively. “Y’all got a sweet setup here, you know? That lil closet? That’s somethin’ else.” 

Mark nods, turning off the coffeepot. “We’ve worked hard on it. Did you guys use anything fun?” 

“Maybe,” Matthew says airily, “I’ve never used strawberry-flavor lube before, that shit’s actually okay. Where’s your cups?” 

“Left side of the sink cabinet,” Mark replies. 

“Cool.” 

Matthew makes himself a cup of coffee, and Mark just leans against the counter and watches him. He seems completely at ease, not at all embarrassed to be there with Mark the morning after a hookup with his roommate. Mark supposes it’s because they’ve known each other for a while. And maybe Matthew is just as shameless as Chris. 

“Is Chris still asleep?” Mark asks.

“Yeah,” Matthew looks sidelong at him, “I think I tired him out pretty good. We didn’t bother you, did we?” 

“No, no, I didn’t get home until like 3.” 

“That’s prolly for the best,” Matthew says.

Mark thinks he’s probably right. 

Chris doesn’t emerge for another twenty minutes, and when he does, he’s draped in a big black hoodie that definitely isn’t one of his own. There’s a thin line on the front of his throat that looks suspiciously like a bruise in the shape of his weird little BDSM collar. Mark doesn’t want to know. Okay, he kind of wants to know. But he’s not gonna ask.

“Morning,” Matthew says cheerfully, “You look like shit.” 

Chris raises a middle finger at him, and trudges over to get a cup of water. Mark watches him, amused and slightly concerned that he’ll accidentally drown himself. His eyes are mostly closed. 

“I do look like shit,” Chris says, to Mark, “It’s like a map of the world under here.” 

He plucks at the sweatshirt gingerly, and Mark winces. Does he mean…bruises? Because that’s fucking gross and too much information.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Mark says. 

Matthew snaps his fingers, like he’s just remembered something. “Oh yeah, Marky, are you gonna see Johnny again?” 

Mark nods. “We’re gonna go out later today.” 

“Thank fuck. I was worried I ruined that shit for you, which would suck.” 

“No, you’re good,” Mark assures him, “I was worried I ruined things for you guys, too. I’m sorry about that.” 

Matthew shrugs. “No complaints here.”

Mark does indeed have a date with Johnny. But it remains to be seen if it’ll go as well as this date seems to have gone. Gross bruises and all.

\---------------

Johnny and Mark text nonstop until the instant Johnny pulls up in front of the house. Actually, they’ve been texting nonstop since the first date that ended so awkwardly. Johnny’s easy to talk to. They’ve chatted about music, about the studio, about projects Chris and Mark have worked on with Matthew and Eric. It’s nice to have someone on the outside, who’s not part of Mark’s messy work and home life, to talk to about stuff. 

It reminds Mark of being a kid, honestly. Being a high schooler, and texting a crush from morning to night. The kind of infatuated that kids get. He likes it more than he’d admit.

But as much as they talk, Mark obviously did not pay close enough attention to what Johnny’s car looks like when he came over last time. He just remembers that it’s a dark color, a medium-sized sedan. Turns out, those details were not important in the slightest. 

The car is definitely a Porsche Panamera. 

“That’s a nice car,” he says, stupidly, as he follows Johnny away from the apartment door and toward the car. 

Johnny grins at him, “Yeah, that’s my car.” 

It’s an odd thing for a part-time studio worker, part-time barista to own. That car is like $110,000, with all the details Johnny’s has. But that’s none of Mark’s business. Maybe it was a gift, or he inherited it from someone. Won it in a raffle? 

Regardless of his skepticism, Mark climbs into the passenger’s seat and immediately melts into the luxury upholstery. 

“Oh, this is a _nice_ car,” Mark says again. 

He stares out the window at his own beat-up and ugly car. He loves that car like a family member. It does its job as a pair of wheels, but it looks like a fucking joke compared to this thing, with its dents and rust spots and scratches. 

“You said that already,” Johnny teases, as he pulls out of the parking spot. 

They’re going to Johnny’s house for dinner. He wanted to return the favor, since Mark cooked last time, and his house was the obvious choice since he doesn’t have roommates. Mark made sure to ask. He’s not getting cockblocked this time, damnit. 

His mind is already on the money topic, so he asks Johnny, “How’d you get into the barista stuff, anyway? It’s way different from music and studio stuff.” 

Johnny shrugs, maneuvering onto the 405 on-ramp. “My childhood best friend Jaehyun and I, we were always into coffee, and later on, wine and spirits and whatever. We learned way too much about it.” 

“That’s cute.” 

“Worked at Starbucks in high school and everything. So later on, after college, it made sense to start investing in something that I love, you know?” 

“Investing…time?” Mark asks. 

“Money.” 

“Money?” 

“Yeah,” Johnny nods. “There was this place in Cerritos, a cafecito place, you know? Just one family, and they needed cash bad for upgrades.” 

“Cuban coffee.” 

“Yeah. They made GREAT coffee, but the location and the clientele sucked. But if you sink cash into a place like that, keep the business in local hands, and lure in some hipsters for the ‘real deal,’ you have a recipe for success,” Johnny says. 

“Jeez.” 

“I didn’t have any real money, but what I had went into that project. Lucked out, I guess. I have a good eye for that kind of thing.”

Mark looks at him wryly. “Damn, okay. You some kind of business genius?”

“Something like that,” Johnny smirks. “I just hate gentrification. Help the real locals.” 

“Evil, moral genius.” 

“Thanks.” 

That story…still doesn’t make perfect sense to Mark. That would mean that Johnny is not a barista. He’s a business owner and investor. 

“So that’s your business?” Mark asks. 

“My first business,” Johnny agrees. 

“First, meaning there’s others.” 

Johnny looks at him with mild concern. “Yeah, man.” 

“Huh.” 

And that’s super weird. Mark can feel a prickle of unease on the back of his neck. Johnny has…how many businesses, exactly? Does he actually own businesses? Is he lying, bragging to seem cooler than he is? That might make sense, but it wouldn’t really explain the Porsche…

Mark isn’t gonna question it. He really likes Johnny, and he really wants to fuck Johnny. Or have Johnny fuck him, as it’s going to go. Johnny seems nice, and genuinely harmless. Matthew didn’t have anything bad to say about him, and they obviously know each other reasonably well. So he’s okay with it. 

He’s gonna be okay with it.

\-----

He’s okay with it right until they pull up to a house off Laurel Canyon, nestled right in the rolling hills surrounding West Hollywood. It’s not a huge house, probably the size of any regular suburban tract house in California. Small front yard, manicured plants out front, small driveway. But the _location_ …

It’s a multi-million-dollar house by location. Prime real estate in one of the most expensive cities in the country.

“Where are we?” Mark asks. 

“My house,” says Johnny. 

Now Johnny looks genuinely concerned, staring at Mark with a face of disbelief, like Mark should’ve somehow known this already. 

“You live here?” 

“Dude,” Johnny says, “Yeah.” 

“Okay,” Mark says dumbly. “So you’re rich.” 

“I guess you could say that.” 

“Well you’d need a lot of money for this house,” Mark says.

Johnny grins. “You think I could be a sugar daddy without money?” 

His face is teasing, but his voice is serious, and Mark just. Does. Not. Know. What. To. Do. And Johnny can tell, because his expression changes rapidly. The concern is back, like Mark is a little kid, or an amnesiac or something.

“Let’s go inside,” he says. 

Mark can’t answer. He’s so confused. 

They go up into that very very nice home, which is full of very regular furniture. It looks like anyone’s house, a little bit worn and comfortable. It’s far more in line with what Mark imagined Johnny’s home would be. Mark can almost forget that he’s in a Hollywood Hills house, except that he can’t. 

They’re up in the hills. In Johnny’s house. Which sits on, like, ten million dollars’ worth of real estate. Johnny, from the studio. 

When they’re inside, out of the public eye, Johnny looks at Mark expectantly. His eyes are a little scared, like Mark’s going to start yelling or throwing things or pull out a knife or something. They’re just standing there in the entry, a silent staredown. 

“You’re a sugar daddy?” says Mark.

“I mean, kinda.” 

“I’m not looking for a relationship like that!” Mark insists. 

Johnny actually looks like he’s worried for Mark’s health, which is so perplexing, it makes Mark want to scream. 

“I’m YOUR sugar daddy,” Johnny says, exasperated, “I don’t understand why you’re so surprised!” 

Mark is dumbfounded. “You’re _what?_ Dude, I met you a week ago! Not fucking possible!” 

“Super possible,” Johnny counters, “I don’t even know how much money I’ve given you! I’ve watched you for five months, it has to be like ten grand!” 

“You’ve watched-”

And then Mark is clubbed over the head with a synapse fire, a connection of the dots that is so swift and fierce and staggering that he actually sits right down on the tile floor of Johnny’s hallway. It all makes sense – Johnny’s comfort at their apartment, the way that Chris wasn’t a surprise but Matthew was, the way that he acts like Mark should already know everything about him.

Johnny. 

Barista. 

Johrista. 

“You’re…” Mark stammers, “Y-you’re…” 

Johnny goes ghostly fucking pale, which is a feat with his rich skin tone. 

“Oh my god, you know about…me,” Mark says, “You watch – you-”

“You didn’t know?!” Johnny counters, sounding just as heartbroken as Mark feels, “I thought you knew!” 

“Why would I put together that you’re that guy from my fucking porn channel?!” Mark asks. 

“I don’t know,” Johnny replies, “Because what kind of freak goes out with their favorite camboy IN SECRET?” 

“Good question, what kind of freak?” Mark shoots back. 

“I wasn’t trying to, like, hide who I was,” Johnny pleads. 

“You told me you were a barista!” 

“That’s mostly true,” Johnny justifies weakly. 

Mark shakes his head. “You’re a super-rich coffeeshop investor. That’s not the same!” 

“I was trying to-”

“Drop a hint?” Mark interrupts. “Why would I make that assumption, man? _Oh, this barista must be my top camming dono._ Not like there’s ten thousand fucking Starbucks locations in the country. Literally ANYONE can be a barista, dude!” 

“I thought I’d scare you away if I told you,” Johnny says. 

And God, is that not the weirdest, saddest thing. Because Johnny’s fucking right. 

If Mark knew, he would have never agreed to it. It’s better to keep work and dating separate, especially when your work is in the public eye. That’s why celebrities don’t date fans. People build up an idea of their personality, an image that they create, and then they expect that to be reality. Mark’s not a celebrity, but he _is_ a fucking pornstar. He knows what people think about him based off his work, knows what Johnny probably thinks about him. 

It makes his skin crawl.

“Do you know how gross that is?” Mark asks, “Not that you’re a fan, I can’t judge you for watching since I fuckin’ make it, but that you didn’t even tell me you were a fan? You lied!” 

“I didn’t lie!” 

“Well you sure didn’t tell the truth!” 

“What was I supposed to say?!” Johnny asks. 

“Anything!” Mark counters. “Don’t just string me along!” 

“I’m not trying to string you along.”

Mark presses his hands over his face. “This is _so humiliating_. I thought you really liked me.” 

“I do!” Johnny insists. 

“Not CherryBomb,” Mark says, “ME.” 

“Look, anything I say right now is gonna sound like me just trying to save my ass,” Johnny says, “I found you because my friend Yuta is way into this one guy on the site, and he suggested I get an account, and I found you, and-”

“I get it,” Mark says, “I get it. You’re a good guy who just happened to-”

But Mark interrupts himself with another thought, and this one is somehow worse. 

“You don’t work at JCC, do you?” 

Johnny looks even more heartbroken, if that’s possible. “You know what JCC stands for?” 

Mark shakes his head. 

“Johnny’s Communication Center,” Johnny all but whispers. 

He doesn’t work there. He owns the studio. Which means that he’s known who Mark (and Chris) is, for months, ever since they first started working with Matthew and Eric on their music. This whole time he’s just been…what? Watching? Biding his time? Padding Mark’s bank account? Why?

“So you knew. You knew the whole time.” 

“Mark-”

“Don’t you mean Cherry?” Mark corrects, harsh. 

“No, I mean Mark,” says Johnny firmly. 

“I can’t do this. I can’t be here right now.” 

Mark stands up. He’s been on the floor for their whole conversation, Johnny just standing before him, deeper inside the house. 

“Please don’t-” Johnny tries, but Mark shakes his head. 

“No, no. I have to…”

Mark’s not gonna cry here. He’s not gonna look like that kind of idiot. A pornstar who thought one of his clients might actually have feelings for him. He turns around and lets himself back out the front door, grateful that he didn’t bring anything with him, and _runs_. 

He doesn’t stop until he’s properly back on Hollywood Boulevard, the street normal and busy for a weekday afternoon, with no sign of Johnny following behind him. But now Mark has stranded himself in West Hollywood with no car and no ride home. 

God, he’s so fucking stupid. 

Situations like this are what friends are for, he guesses. Someone can come get him.

He calls Chris first, and gets no answer. That’s just as well, because Chris doesn’t have a car and doesn’t drive Mark’s car. Felix doesn’t drive, either. 

So he calls Ten. No answer. 

Jamie, no answer. 

Lucas, no answer. 

He scrolls through his contacts, desperate for someone who can – of course. He’s in West Hollywood, gay capital of Los Angeles. Of course. 

He calls Hyunjin, Felix’s drag queen coworker, and he answers on the second ring. 

“Marky!” comes his delighted voice. 

“Hi, Hyunjin,” Mark says, “I need your help.” 

“Help?” Hyunjin’s voice sharpens. “What do you need? Are you okay?” 

“I was on a date that went-” Mark inhales shakily, “Went south and I need a ride home. Are you around?” 

“South?” Hyunjin repeats, sounding even more urgent, “Are you okay, Mark?” 

“I’m okay. Just stuck, and humiliated. Can you drive me home?”

“Where are you?”

“West Hollywood.” 

Hyunjin’s smile is palpable even over the call. “I’m at Hi Tops. Send me your location, I’ll be there in ten.” 

Mark knows that gay bar well. It’s only a few streets away. 

“You’re a lifesaver,” says Mark. 

“I love you too,” says Hyunjin, and he hangs up. 

Mark only has to stand on the sidewalk and choke back tears for exactly eleven minutes before a clunky white sedan pulls up. A thin blonde guy leans out the passenger’s side window, waving to Mark with a sunny grin on his handsome face. He looks strikingly familiar, but Mark is too distracted to figure out why. 

“Mark!” the guy says. 

“Get in!” yells Hyunjin, from the driver’s seat. 

The locks click open, and Mark slides into the back seat. Hyunjin is normal today in jeans and t-shirt, his real hair black and messy and falling almost to his shoulders. 

“Just home?” Hyunjin asks. 

“Please,” Mark says. 

“You got it,” he says. “This is Jisung, by the way.” 

Mark knew he looked familiar, and the name gives it away completely. “Wait. Han?” 

Han, Felix’s ex-boyfriend. Han, the Soundcloud rapper whose awkward blonde dye job inspired the name for Chris’s blonde camming wig. The queer dating world in LA and the OC is apparently very, very small.

Jisung doesn’t look surprised, but he does blush. “Yeah, hi. I didn’t know if you’d remember me.” 

“He dated Felix,” Mark says to Hyunjin. 

Hyunjin’s face goes through a rainbow of emotions, surprised, outraged, and then the biggest beaming smile, and he howls with laughter. “You’re fucking kidding me! That’s the best!” 

Mark smiles in spite of himself. There’s a reason Hyunjin is a professional performer, why he’s good enough to tour doing drag and make piles of money. He’s magnetic. You can’t help but get caught up in whatever he’s doing, what he’s saying or feeling. Even upset and exhausted, Mark wants to laugh along with him. 

But Hyunjin quickly reroutes back to the topic, and asks, “What happened back there?” 

“Do I have to talk about it?” Mark asks. 

“No, of course not. But if you wanna talk, we’ll listen,” Hyunjin says. “We have four ears and like six brain cells between us, but we’ll do our best.” 

“I just wanna go home,” says Mark. 

“You got it, baby.” 

Mark leans against the window and watches the city go by, trying to just empty his mind. He can’t explain why he was so hurt. Johnny didn’t lie. He assumed, for sure, but it doesn’t seem like he was being malicious. But still. He wasn’t honest, and he’s been privy to such a big, important, and also kind of embarrassing part of Mark’s life. 

He doesn’t know what to do next. 

\---------------

That evening, tucked up in his room with the lights off, Mark stares blankly at his Whiplash subscriber box. The username Johrista stares right back at him. 

He’s still not sure what to do next. 

Johnny is a member of the premium CherryBomb channel, and on the private SnapChat, and he’s the top donor for Mark’s channel. Looking at all of it combined, Johnny’s estimate back there was probably a little bit low. He claimed to have given Mark ten thousand dollars. But between all the platforms, it’s probably more like twenty-five thousand. And that’s not even counting whatever money he gave to Chris, by proxy. 

It’s staggering. Mark never really thought of his top fan Johrista as a sugar daddy. Just someone flattering and sweet, who sent heaps of money back when Mark needed it to make ends meet. But it was payment for a service…a clear-cut transaction. Not some kind of arrangement. They didn’t know each other, and Mark was just taking money for his work. Like tipping a server.

Mark’s fine, now. Financially, he’s okay. But it’s probably true that he’s only okay because of Johnny. 

God, it’s a huge fucking mess. He just can’t shake the feeling that Johnny was dishonest with him, that there was some intention below the surface. Johnny always knew who he was, what he did…and he deceived him. He led him on. 

Would it have been so hard, that day, to just admit that he knew? _“Hey, I’m sorry, but I’m a fan of your camboy content.”_ Eric knew, already. Matthew knew. It wouldn’t have been the end of the world to just be honest. He could have – 

Mark freezes. He hates what he’s doing to himself. He’s justifying his feelings. 

He doesn’t need to do that. He’s allowed to be mad at Johnny. He’s allowed to feel betrayed. He doesn’t have to be mean, he doesn’t have to seek revenge, but he can feel how he feels. 

Suddenly furious, Mark clicks into his own members’ section, and kicks Johrista off the premium list, canceling his paid subscription at the same time. 

He deletes the user from the top donor’s list, and blocks him from the channel. 

He deletes him from the SnapChat account. 

Except for his personal phone number in Mark’s phone, the only piece of contact info that was given honestly, as Johnny, not Johrista, Johnny is cut off completely. 

It doesn’t feel good. It feels awful, actually. But it feels justified. Mark cringes at the idea of Johnny seeing him naked on cam some random night, watching him get off after being so strange and evasive in person, after assuming that they had a different kind of relationship than simply the blossoming interest that Mark felt. 

Mark doesn’t want his money, not now. He doesn’t want his attention or his presence while he’s trying to work. He doesn’t even know if he wants to go to JCC anymore. 

It’s better this way. 

A knock on the partially-open bedroom door catches Mark’s attention. He looks up to see Chris leaning into his room. 

“You’re home early,” Chris says. “What happened?” 

Mark just looks at Chris for a moment. His Chris, his best friend, just soft concerned eyes and his stupid beanie pulled down all the way over his eyebrows. Mark can’t help the way he starts crying. It’s not sobbing or anything, but a few big, fat tears roll down his cheeks and splash onto his bedspread. 

“Johnny is Johrista,” Mark chokes. 

Chris doesn’t react with anything but a slow nod and a half smile. “Did you eat?”

“No.” 

“Do you want to eat?” 

Mark considers this, and then says, “You know that giant chicken parm from that place downtown, that’s like four normal parms glued together?” 

“I’ll Postmate it,” Chris promises.

“And hey,” Mark says, “Can we have everyone over tomorrow?” 

Chris grins. “Dilbo boil?” 

“Please.” 

“I’ll be unofficial, since we don’t have enough dirty toys, yet,” Chris says thoughtfully, fixing Mark with an even look. “And I’ll delete Johrista off my channel.” 

Mark’s heart swells with love. The fact that he didn’t even have to say a single word, or justify anything, or argue or explain… unconditional love, Mark thinks. Family love. Real love. 

“Okay,” he says. “And Chris?” 

“Mm?” 

“Thanks.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They aren’t dating, contrary to what a lot of their friends and acquaintances thought at first. They’re not even fucking, save the occasional on-camera collab. They’re just friends, best friends with something very strange in common.
> 
> But as Mark climbs out of the shower to the smell of baking brownies and the sound of Chris’s stupid high-pitched laugh at the TV, he thinks it’s pretty alright, what they have now.
> 
> (NCT x Stray Kids Camboy AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for stickin' with me. This AU is really a passion project, just something I wanted to finish and get out there, so the fact that y'all have enjoyed makes me all warm n fuzzy inside ^-^ 
> 
> _do you wanna know how the story ends?  
>  hazy and spun out, just more than friends  
> weekend wonderful, a dizzy dream  
> a colorful lie, we made a hell of a team_

~ 🍓 Chris 🍓 ~

It’s technically none of Chris’s business what happened on that date, and he’s not going to pry if Mark doesn’t want to share. But after getting a text from Hwang Hyunjin, of all people, telling him to check up on Mark, he’s feeling a bit of his inner Mama Bear come out. 

So if Mark wants chicken parm, and for everyone to come over to play, well, that’s what he’s getting. 

Chris invites Hyunjin along with the rest of their usual friends, since he seems to be involved with the situation somehow, and Matthew because obviously, and after a moment of hesitation, Eric and Ashley, too, for solidarity. It’s not a real dilbo boil, just a sex-toy-free kickback, so it’ll probably be safe to have new people there. Probably. 

He texts them all asking if they’ll come to a late lunch, 2PM the next day, and receives resounding yeses after he mentions that it’s Mark’s request after a bad day. Just like that, he has a party to host. 

\---------------

As it turns out, Chris isn’t the only one who feels like a mama bear when it comes to Mark. While he’s in the kitchen dumping flour into a mixing bowl while Matthew stirs it into the wet ingredients with his sexy upper-body strength and Ashley from the studio carefully cuts parchment paper liners for the cookie sheets, Mark is on the couch being cuddled to death in a Jamie-Ten-Eric sandwich.

Eric had arrived at the same time as Jamie and Ten, and for whatever reason, between the two brief times she’s met him, Jamie has decided that Eric is her mortal enemy. 

They have a truce going, though. Eric called Jamie a freak, Jamie slapped him, and then Mark came out of his bedroom looking sullen and puffy-eyed from crying, and they instantly made peace. Now they’re on either side of Ten, Mark on Ten’s lap, calmly watching TV. 

Chris does not, and will probably never, understand. 

No one’s mentioned Johnny or the date at all, though. Even Chris doesn’t know the whole story. He got a little bit out of Mark over dinner – that Johnny is rich, he’s been Whiplash user Johrista this whole time, he owns JCC – but he doesn’t know exactly what went so wrong. It’s like everyone has the unspoken understanding that it doesn’t matter what happened, and it’s better left alone. The story doesn’t matter as much as Mark does. 

A polite knock on the door lets Chris know that Hyunjin has arrived next. Felix and Lucas don’t knock, so it’s obvious. He puts down the empty flour bowl and goes to answer the door. 

He finds not just Hyunjin, but also Felix’s ex, Han, on his doorstep. 

“Oh my god?” Chris says, eloquently. 

“Hey,” says Han, “Is Felix here?” 

“He will be.” 

“Eh, that’s fine,” Han decides, and walks right inside. 

Chris stares after him. “I’m sorry, what-”

“This is my boyfriend,” Hyunjin says. 

He heads into the house too, like that settles it, and Chris follows him. 

“Yeah, I see that,” says Chris, “Why is he Han?” 

“I dunno,” says Hyunjin, “Hey, Jisung, why are you Han?” 

“How am I supposed to answer that?!” Jisung asks. 

The kid looks genuinely confused, like smoke’s gonna start pouring out his ears. Chris rolls his eyes. They gotta stop before Jisung hurts himself. 

“Where’s my Mark Lee?” Hyunjin asks instead. 

“On the couch!” come’s Ten’s voice, “Being LOVED.” 

“Is that Ten?!” Hyunjin gasps, delighted. 

He vanishes deeper into the house. Chris shakes his head, overwhelmed already. He knew it was going to be a trip, having this assortment of people here, but it’s already so much. He goes back into the kitchen to his cookies and his mans. 

Matthew has finished combining the dough, and is carefully pouring chocolate chips into the bowl. Chris comes up beside him and tips his hand so that nearly the whole bag spills in. It’s more chocolate chip than cookie now, which is exactly what a dessert should be. Matthew doesn’t even comment, just mixes it around. 

Quiet acceptance. He’s perfect. 

They’re about to begin separating dough balls onto baking sheets when the front door opens again, and in spills Felix and Lucas, already making an unholy racket. No one else on the planet is that loud, Chris laments, he’s found the two loudest. 

“Mark Leeeeee,” Lucas sings, “Your heroes have-”

“HEY,” Felix interrupts. 

Hyunjin’s dramatic gasp takes the spot of loudest noise yet, as he swoons, “My dearest love, Chickadee!” 

“Why is your hand on my ex-boyfriend’s ass?!” Felix demands. 

Oh, Jesus fucking Christ. Not this. Chris had hoped that Felix would have the sense not to pick a fight here, now. But obviously he’s not that mature or secure. Chris gives Ashley and Matthew a look of utter defeat, a kill-me-now look, and Ashley just laughs. No other choice left to him, Chris goes back to the living room. 

“What’s wrong now?” Chris asks. 

Felix is pointing at Hyunjin and Jisung with one tiny finger, outrage apparent. Lucas’s face is screwed up with a tense concentration better suited to, like, a calculus lecture…no, maybe not that, Lucas is scary good at math…a cooking show, maybe. Eric looks concerned, Jamie and Ten are twin smiles of delight at the drama, and Mark has an expression of complete and utter exhaustion that Chris thinks he probably is wearing, too. 

“What’s wrong?” Chris repeats.

“That’s my ex,” Felix whines. 

“Yeah, ex, so he’s perfectly free to date other people.” 

“I don’t know why this is a surprise,” says Hyunjin, “I mean, Mark knew about us.” 

“Mark knew?!” Felix yelps, “Mark!” 

“Don’t look at me, I was in crisis!” says Mark, defensive.

“Felix, you and LUCAS are a thing,” Chris says wearily, “You have no right to be this upset.”

“ _You two?_ ” says Ten. 

Mark leans forward on Ten’s lap, “Wait, _what?!_ Since _when?_ ”

True to form, neither Felix or Lucas look particularly upset at having their relationship (hookupship? situationship?) outed to everyone. Felix actually looks kinda proud, and Lucas just has his same old dumb smile on. 

Chris nods. “They were trying to set up Jamie and Ten and then they got horny and ended up getting themselves together instead.” 

“You were-” Ten sputters, “Me and HER?! That’s what you were doing?!” 

“These two? Really?” Eric frowns, like he can’t fathom it. 

“Look,” says Felix to Ten, impatient, “It’s not our fault that you two are like, the same person. It SEEMED like you’d make a great couple, but you have the sexual chemistry of oil and water.” 

“None,” Lucas clarifies. “None at all.”

“Can’t you two pull this matchmaker bullshit at some other event? This is supposed to be a nice time!” Chris protests. 

“You wanted us to date?” Jamie asks, with a sidelong look at Ten, “Nasty.” 

Ten shares her disgust. “You really thought you two could force us into dating?” 

“Well, we obviously didn’t put our full power into it,” says Lucas matter-of-factly, “Because our success rate is like 100%.” 

“Hold on,” says Chris, recalling something he’d been told not so long ago, “No, the fuck it’s not. You told me that your ONE SINGLE success in setting up a couple was with this fucker!” 

Chris gestures at Jisung, who looks slightly embarrassed but otherwise unbothered about what’s happening. Dating two drag queens in a row will do that to someone. He’s right though; Lucas and Felix had claimed Jisung as their most recent matchmaking success, setting him up with…a work friend, or something? 

“Yeah, Changbin and I broke up,” Jisung says, “We were too good of friends for it to work out long-term. We started a rap duo.”

“They started a rap duo,” Felix repeats in disbelief, “That’s just _great_.”

“Maybe we’re really best-friend matchmakers,” Lucas suggests, ever the optimist. 

“You dumped my match for you…to date my drag partner?!” Felix cries. 

“I didn’t know he was your drag partner at the time,” Jisung points out. “But yeah, I guess.” 

Felix turns fully toward Hyunjin, “You low-down skank!” 

“Okay, okay!” Eric says, “ _Enough_ of that! No skank talk.” 

His voice is firm and parental, and honestly, that’s what their friend group has been missing. They’re all whiny children, so they need someone with actual parenting skills. He stands up and looks around the circle, as if deciding on his first victim.

Eric points at Hyunjin and Jisung. “If you two started dating when you were both single, it’s fine. They’re just dramatic. And Jisung, you have awful taste in men. I’m not gay, but goddamn.” 

He points at Jamie. “Ten is far too pretty and nice for you.” 

“You little-” Jamie lunges forward to hit him again, but Ten stops her, smacking her hand out of the air. 

“You are a wonderful person and you don’t deserve to be paired up with her,” Eric tells Ten. 

Ten just shrugs, the warm smile on his face not showing agreement or dismissal.

Eric points at Felix next. “You and Lucas are a thing, yeah? So calm the fuck down. What is wrong with all of you?! Is this why you do porn?!” 

“Wait, who does porn?” Jisung asks, looking actually interested. 

“Now is not the time,” Chris warns him. 

Just like that, the tension has dissipated. Felix looks grudgingly placated, and Jamie isn’t about to commit any murders, so Chris considers it a success. Damn.

Jamie stares at Eric, and then says, “You just ruined the whole argument. 

“It’s called conflict resolution,” Eric replies. 

“What a fuckin’ narc,” Jamie mutters. 

“I am NOT a narc, I’m a peacemaker!” 

“Well,” says Chris, still shocked. “That settles that, huh?”

“You’re welcome,” says Eric. 

“You might be my hero.” 

Ashley and Matthew are leaning out of the kitchen to listen to the pseudo-fight, Chris notices, and that means that all of them are present. It’s kind of a lot, their usual six-person group friends and five whole extra new people. More than a houseful. 

“There’s been a lot going on,” Ten says mildly. 

“That’s an understatement,” says Chris.

Ten regards Lucas and Felix. “Did you guys stalk us to the mall, too?” 

“Too?” Felix echoes, playing innocent. 

“Yeah, we saw you follow us to the Cheesecake Factory last weekend. And the beach on Monday,” says Ten. 

“Damn,” says Lucas. 

Chris glances at him. “But you didn’t see them hiding in the bush?” 

“At Pain du Monde?” Jamie asks, “Yeah, but you know…” 

“They’re not worth the trouble,” Ten agrees. 

“We are _right here,_ ” Felix protests. 

“So you knew the whole time?” Chris says. 

“If we pay attention to them, they get worse,” Jamie replies, “Have you learned nothing about them over the years?”

Ten sighs. “I knew they were doing something weird, but trying to get us together?” 

“Sorry, but the only couple around here is Hyunjin and Jisung,” says Jamie. 

“Felix and Lucas!” Lucas says. 

“Not Ten and Jamie,” Ten affirms. 

“Whatever Chris and Matt are,” Eric adds. 

Something inside Chris constricts, and it surprises him. It’s not that Eric is wrong – there’s no label on the unit of Chris-and-Matt. They’re not boyfriends, really. But having their friends pick up on that casual vibe…is that wrong of him? To hold Matthew at arm’s length, so to speak? To not make things official.

Lucas distracts him again, by furrowing his brow and saying, “And…” 

Nobody looks at Mark, all carefully avoiding the topic still, but the implication hangs heavy in the air around them. Mark’s the only other one with recent dating adventures who _isn’t_ here with their new S.O. 

“Someday, maybe,” Mark says bravely. “Something.”

And his wavering voice hits just a little too close to home for Chris. The point of this day is to make Mark feel better, not worse. He catches Hyunjin’s eye, and luckily, he seems to understand what Chris is saying with his desperate eye contact. 

“I need to show you this TikTok,” Hyunjin says immediately, whipping out his phone, “One of the girls at work sent it to me, and-”

He’s the best. Chris can see as some of the others sense the shift in the atmosphere (Lucas, whose face softens, and Eric, who finally looks calm), but it seems like Mark doesn’t even notice as he leans in to watch Hyunjin’s phone.

Satisfied, Chris retreats to the kitchen to keep cooking, and to his surprise, Jisung follows after him on soft padding feet. 

“Sorry for the trouble,” Jisung apologizes, looking genuinely troubled. 

Suddenly, Chris feels kinda bad for calling the kid a shitty rapper, since he’s actually kind of good now that Chris thinks about it, and for naming his wig after him. His blonde hair has obviously been cut and re-dyed since the first time he was around, and it looks much better on him now. 

“You’re fine,” Chris promises, “Felix is just like that. You should know that by now.” 

Chris grins, and Jisung grins back. He’s got cute round cheeks, and they’re extra pronounced when he smiles. And apparently Chris isn’t the only one who thinks he’s cute, because Ashley descends on them with a winning smile. 

“Extra hands,” she says sweetly, “Can you stir fry?” 

“I guess,” say Jisung, taken aback. 

“Awesome, here.” 

She shoves an egg and a zucchini at him, and Jisung takes them in stride, like he’s taken everything else that’s been (metaphorically) thrown at him tonight.

“Hobak jeon,” Jisung guesses. 

“A cook and a brain. Impressive,” Ashley teases him. 

“Do you eat a lot of Korean food?” Jisung asks, directing his question at Chris. 

“Only sometimes,” Chris says. 

“But you’re – we’re all Korean.” 

“Not all of us.” 

“I’m American,” Matthew quips, and Ashley backhands him in the abs gently. 

Jisung is still blessedly, ridiculously nonplussed. “What else we having?” 

“Cookies,” says Matthew, “And pizza bagels.” 

“A balanced meal plan,” Ashley agrees. 

“Cool,” says Jisung. 

He grabs a bowl out of the drying rack by the sink, and cracks the egg into it. 

Hyunjin and Jisung are not part of their regular friend circle. They really have no reason to be, but they might need to stay, now that they’ve come. This dude fits right in, Chris thinks, as he watches Jisung beat the egg in careful silence while Ashley and Matthew wrestle over the pack of bagels intended for pizzas. 

There are eleven of them, now. Eleven people. They all slot into nice neat roles, little places that keep them orderly.

Chris and Mark, the camboys, the originals. Felix and Lucas, best friends from years in the past who have inexplicably become boyfriends. Ten and Jamie, practically the same beautiful person, joined at the hip. Hyunjin and Jisung, marginal friends turned full-time friends. Eric and Ashley, longtime acquaintances who’ve made themselves right at home. And Matthew, the most perfect person ever created with perhaps the greatest pair of tits. 

Their friend group has literally doubled in size. It would be overwhelming if it wasn’t so natural. Chris has a knack for collecting people who need a niche. Strays. That’s his specialty. 

That’s what drew him to Mark, the quiet, whip-smart singer-songwriter in a class of popstar dreams. And to Felix, an international student in his high school who turned out to also be from Australia. And Jamie, way back when they were teenagers, loudmouthed and clever at a time of life when most kids don’t want to be seen at all. 

And what’s even more fun is watching the lines blur between them, jumbling the categories Chris has in his head, about new and old friends. Watching Jisung and Ashley fry coins of zucchini on the stove. Peeking into the living room to see Eric and Felix mixing drinks, Hyunjin putting eyeliner on Lucas. The welcome addition of Jamie in the kitchen to help cook. They’re all mixed together now.

Chris is a romantic. This is the shit he lives for. Emotional connection. 

He splits bagels with a fork while Jamie and Ashley slice vegetables for pizza toppings, working side by side and chatting quietly. Jisung babbles at Matthew over the kitchen clatter, something about the new Megan Thee Stallion song. Matthew just looks thrilled to have someone to discuss it with. 

There’s only one thing missing, Chris thinks, as he arranges the bagel halves on a baking sheet, ready for sauce and toppings, and that’s for Mark to be happy. 

But Mark will get there in time. There’s more than enough love in their little apartment, nestled in the middle of beautiful, bougie Irvine, to help him get there. 

\---------------

Chris and Mark clean up together after everyone leaves. Truly, it feels like Chris spends half his life just doing dishes and sweeping the floor. His friends are gross. 

As they’re stacking the plates and consolidating extra food, Mark turns to Chris suddenly, with big focused eyes. 

“I was thinking…” 

“Never a good thing,” Chris teases, “You’re gonna overheat.” 

“Shut up!” 

“I care about your safety!” 

Mark frowns dramatically at him, but continues, “Anyway…I was thinkin’…with the change in my dono list, I don’t think…” 

He trails off, and Chris just lets him. It doesn’t do any good to push. Mark will say what he’s gonna say when he’s good and ready. 

“I can’t make rent this month,” Mark says, looking embarrassed. 

That’s it? 

That’s nothing. Chris expected as much, honestly. He had to wave goodbye to a big chunk of his own cash flow, cutting Johnny off the channel. It’s probably much worse for Mark. Until he builds his viewer base up some more to compensate, Mark’s gonna have that problem. It’s chill. 

“I’ll cover it, you don’t need to worry,” Chris says. 

“No, that’s – no,” Mark says, determined, “But could we – would you – we could collab.” 

Chris nods slowly. “Okay, I’ll text Eric and-”

“Not a music collab,” Mark says softly. 

Oh. 

“We haven’t done that in a long time,” Chris says. 

Mark blows out air hard. “I know. But you know how much cash we can rake in if we really do it.” 

Chris hates to agree, but it’s true. The time Mark came on cam to bail him out the other day wasn’t even sexy. Mark was fully clothed and very annoyed, making sure Chris didn’t dislocate his shoulder, but Chris still made twice what he normally would on a solo session. Just from less than three minutes of Mark’s presence. And the brief collab session on the night that their dates went sour. That was just a handjob but Chris is sure they both made rent that night, rent and then some. 

“Okay,” Chris agrees, finally. 

“Okay,” says Mark, “Let’s say…Tuesday? Wednesday?” 

“Tuesday,” Chris decides. “At least if it’s a regular cam day for one of us, we’ll have an audience waiting.” 

“We can dual-stream it,” says Mark. 

“Cool.” 

“Do you want to plan it tonight?” 

“No,” says Chris, almost too quickly, surprising himself, “I’m…tired, having that many people over at once is a lot.” 

“True,” Mark laughs, “True. Okay. Tomorrow we can plan.” 

“Cool,” says Chris again. 

Mark just smiles and brings a stack of plates into the kitchen, normal as anything. But there’s an odd feeling rising up inside Chris, as he thinks about the logistics of a true camming collab. Not discomfort…and not sadness…just…something. It’s kind of unsettling. 

\---------------

That feeling doesn’t go away. It stays there, festering in the middle of Chris’s chest. It’s there all that night, and into the next morning. It’s there on Monday evening, as he takes an Uber over to Matthew’s tiny Garden Grove apartment. 

Chris had hoped the feeling would subside once he and Mark planned everything out, once the element of surprise was gone. They sat down and did it earlier, deciding on everything from the location to the time to the acts they’re going to perform. It’s normal stuff. Stuff they’ve done before, mostly, except for the big surprise they’ve planned for their fans. 

They’re going to really have sex. The last time they had penetrative sex with each other was back before Mark cammed, for a one-night-stand type concept on Chris’s channel to see if Mark was really interested in camming. Mark wore a mask and everything, totally anonymous. Chris doesn’t even know if his audience is aware that that was Mark.

It might be a little odd, and intimidating, but mostly it’s just fine. Logically, it’s something they’ve done before and can certainly do again. But in the back of that blue Honda, on his way across the OC, Chris feels…wrong.

He mostly forgets about it through the night, through dinner and the movie he watched with Matthew, his mind occupied with the company and the warm familiarity that is his new love interest. They fuck again that night, but it’s something closer to lovemaking than Chris has ever felt. 

That’s when the feeling comes back. 

He’s lying there, in Matthew’s bed, a fucked-out and exhausted Matthew fast asleep and breathing calmly beside him. And there’s that feeling, a sick twist in his gut forcing its way past the pleasant tingling left behind by Matthew’s hands, his mouth. 

It’s not Matthew making him feel this way, that’s for certain. Chris is certain. And it can’t…it can’t be _Mark_ …

He loves Mark. He’s worked with Mark before, and it’s been fine. He asked Matthew what he thought about it earlier, and got an easy ‘it’s fine’ and a promise to tune in, so it’s not like he’s cheating. They’re not even exclusive. They’re not boyfriends. Chris isn’t good at boyfriends, or girlfriends, or partners. He’s a hopeless, over-attached romantic who ruins everything he throws his heart fully into, so he’s riding this wave casually. They’re not together. It’s okay. 

It’s just Mark. He’d do anything for Mark. The feeling will go away, Chris decides. It’ll go away on its own. 

~ 🍒 Mark 🍒 ~

Mark is surprisingly alright with the idea of fucking Chris. They’ve done enough sexual stuff before that it’s not super intimidating. New, but not scary, even though Mark is mostly a bottom. 

He’s probably like 60/40 bottom/top, if he had to, like, quantify it. But Chris is more like 80/20 bottom/top, so the responsibility falls to Mark to make their collab work. They’re going for the money, this time, and in the world of porn that means a dick needs to go inside someone. 

Their fans will go feral for it, they both know that. The two of them so rarely have sex with partners on their channels, and though they’re known as roommates and sometimes will do different kinds of play together, they rarely ever fuck like that. Almost never. The novelty of it is a sure-fire recipe for success. Mark can handle it, easy-peasy. Plus he really needs the money. 

He’s just finished giving himself the ol’ tidy-up downstairs (he hates being unkempt when he’s working with other people) when Chris knocks on the bathroom door. 

“Almost ready?” he asks, through the wood. 

“You can come in,” Mark says. 

The door opens a crack and Chris’s head pops in. His hair is its usual soft curly mess, but he’s got on soft eyeliner and a beautiful cheek highlight, and glitter on the inner corners that make his eyes look big and gentle. 

Or, it would, if Chris wasn’t wide-eyed to the point of looking like a scared puppy. He’s in that black hoodie from the other day, the one that Mark thinks belongs to Matthew, the hem falling down to his thighs.

“You okay?” Mark asks. 

Truthfully, he doesn’t look okay at all. But Chris gives himself a little shake, and smiles, wide and soft and normal, and Mark relaxes. 

“Yeah, I’m just nervous,” Chris says. 

“It’s only me,” Mark grins, “It’ll be fine.” 

“I know,” Chris says, “I know.” 

“I think it’s go-time,” Mark says, giving himself one last once-over in the mirror. 

Chris throws open the bathroom door properly, and offers Mark his arm like a gentleman. The effect is ruined by the fact that he’s wearing fishnet stockings under the hoodie and absolutely nothing else, but Mark appreciates the gesture.

“Let’s go,” Chris quips. 

They’re filming in Mark’s room, so Chris whisks him over to there. The atmosphere is plainer, with his off-white walls and dark blues and greens for décor. Chris’s room is a mess of pink and black, like an Avril Lavigne CD exploded. 

Both of their phones are set on tripods, side by side, aimed at the bed. Mark busted out his good USB microphones, and they’ve put out their ring lights for maximum impact and good (though not exactly natural) lighting. 

They’re going all out, tonight. 

“One last recap,” Chris says, as he turns on one of the ring lights, “Traffic light system.” 

“Red, yellow, green,” Mark confirms. 

“No condom.” 

“Because you’re gross but we’re both clean,” Mark agrees. 

“Hands and knees type thing.” 

“So I don’t have to look at your ugly O face,” Mark finishes sweetly. 

“This was your idea!” Chris complains, “You get the honor of fucking me and you’re gonna be a little bitch about it!” 

Mark laughs. “Sorry, sorry. It’s a real honor.” 

“Damn right it is.” 

\-----

Before either of them knows it, they’re in the thick of the scene. 

Mark barely even remembers what quick lines Chris fed to the camera, about sneaking over to CherryBomb’s room for a little bit of fun. That wide-eyed, slightly concerned expression has flashed across Chris’s face a few more times, each time more off-putting than the last. But they’re moving on ahead, regardless. 

Chris is on his back, propped up on his elbows. Originally, they had planned on doing this doggy-style, but Mark isn’t comfortable turning Chris over yet. He’s afraid that once they’re not face-to-face, he’ll miss something. He wants Chris looking at him. The fishnet stockings are gone, already, and the hoodie falls down around his hips. In stark contrast, which they also planned beforehand to maximize their temporary roles for the night, Mark’s still fully dressed. 

“Why don’t we take this off?” Mark suggests, tugging at the hem of the hoodie.

“I – okay,” Chris says, awkwardly. 

Mark pauses. It seems like he wanted to say no, or at least say something else. Chris only goes fully nude with partners. He always cams with clothes on, a tee or a sweater or something. Always. And even though they talked about this ad nauseum, they don’t have to do it if he’s uncomfortable. But Chris just nods at him resolutely, so Mark pulls the garment off fluidly and tosses it over the side of the bed, leaving Chris naked beneath him. 

“I forget how sexy you are under all those clothes, Berry,” Mark teases.

“How could you forget?” Chris asks, pouting a little. 

“You don’t let me see you like this very often,” Mark replies. 

Chris huffs out a laugh. “You’re doing a lot of talking and not much else. I came here to see what all the fuss is about with you.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me. People love you, say you’re so sexy, but all I’m hearing is bullshit,” says Chris, wrapping one hand around his own cock and pumping lazily.

“I’m sorry,” Mark simpers, trying to get back into his groove as confident, flippant CherryBomb. “Let me help my poor baby out.” 

The two of them might just be friends, with purely platonic feelings for each other at the core of it all, but it’s no struggle for Mark to find Chris sexy and want him to feel good when they’re doing something like this. Mark gets why Chris is so fucking popular, in this moment, he really does, watching Chris stroke himself and lean back casually on one strong arm. He settles himself between Chris’s spread legs, sitting back on his heels. 

“Gonna let me stretch you open for me?” Mark asks. 

For one brief, bizarre moment, it looks like Chris is going to say no. But he gives his best mischievous smile, all dimples and feigned innocence, and nods. 

“Words,” Mark prods, leaning across the bed to grab the lube they’d placed on the side table. 

“Yes, Cherry,” Chris says, rolling his eyes. 

Mark tsks. “Attitude. If you want me to leave you here like this, I will.” 

It’s partly a joke, and partly a real out, if Chris wants to take it. But he doesn’t respond to it, instead just settling his legs open more and waiting for Mark to continue. He’s still getting strange vibes, but Chris hasn’t said anything. He hasn’t asked to stop.

He trusts Chris. 

So he slicks up his hand with lube, and eases his index finger into Chris’s hole. He knows that Chris prepped before (porn secrets – people almost never actually come into a shoot or a cam session without being 100% ready to roll beforehand) so it’s mostly for show, the way he takes his time, and the way Chris responds to his touch with a loud, low groan. 

“Okay?” Mark asks. 

“You’re acting like I’m gonna break,” Chris complains. 

“What? I can’t take my time?” Mark chastises, twisting his wrist in a way that make’s Chris’s half-hard cock twitch. 

Mark carefully slides in a second finger beside the first, moving them the tiny bit that he’s able. It’s a tight fit, even after the prep that Chris did earlier. Chris is clenched around him, anxious and tight and not at all like he’s enjoying himself. Mark has seen Chris open up, Mark has opened him up himself before. It’s not like this. 

“I won’t be able to do anything, baby, if you don’t relax,” Mark says. 

Chris doesn’t reply. He just looks down at where Mark’s fingers disappear inside him, and swallows hard. Jesus Christ. He’s losing his boner while he’s spacing out, too, which isn’t good. Mark tries to keep his persona intact. 

“Hey, you still with me?” he asks Chris, “I said to relax a little.” 

Again, no answer, and Mark’s growing more worried by the second. He leans in very close over Chris, shielding Chris from the cameras as well as he can. It probably just looks like they’re kissing. Hopefully. His first priority is Chris, of course, but Mark also doesn’t want to worry their fans too much. 

“Color?” Mark whispers, right into Chris’s ear. 

Chris just looks up at him with blank, panicked eyes. 

“Color?” Mark repeats urgently. 

“Red,” Chris gasps, “ _Red._ ” 

And Mark pulls his hand out of Chris like he’s been electric shocked. “Red?!” 

“Red,” Chris repeats, still struggling to breathe properly and failing, gasping, “Ma – Cherry, I can’t-”

That slip up, almost saying Mark’s real name on cam, is the last signal that Mark needs to know that this is beyond some momentary discomfort. This isn’t a safeword moment that they can talk through and improvise something new on cam. They need to stop this, and they need to stop it now. Fuck the stream, fuck Whiplash, fuck everything.

“God,” Mark chokes. “Baby, let me-”

He cuts himself off and leans away, peeling himself off Chris. As quickly as he can, Mark gets in front of the cameras directly, willing his head to clear enough to give a good excuse and not seem as panicked as he is.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll come back on later and…and update you guys but I’m sorry,” Mark sputters, into his phone lens, and ends the livestream. 

He grabs Chris’s phone and ends that stream too, and practically throws both phones away. The audience will hopefully understand that they just needed to stop, for their own safety, but it doesn’t matter if they don’t. He needs to get back to Chris. 

“What do you need?” Mark asks him, as gently as he can manage while his heart is pounding the way that it is. 

Chris doesn’t look hurt, physically. But he’s curled in on himself, looking both distinctly upset and complete dissociated. 

Sub drop, Mark thinks. Right in the middle of the scene. 

“Hey,” Mark says, “Hey.” 

He touches Chris’s shoulder gently, making his best friend turn to face him properly. The first thing he wants to do is get Chris comfortable, and that means…

“Hey. Clothes?” Mark asks. 

Slowly, far too slowly, Chris nods. So Mark scoops the black hoodie off the ground, the one that smells like Matthew’s distinctive cologne – oh, fuck. 

Mark has an inkling what is happening, here. 

He drags the hoodie over Chris’s head with gentle hands, pulls his arms through the sleeves and settles the hood over Chris’s hair the way he likes to wear his sweatshirts. 

“Okay?” 

“Okay,” Chris says back, his voice tiny. 

“Okay. Can I go get you some water?” Mark asks. 

“Yes.” 

Mark nearly trips on his way off the bed, and he all-out runs to the kitchen. He grabs a water bottle, and cracks the seal on his way back. Chris hasn’t really moved, but in the time Mark was gone, he’s started to cry. Big tears trace their way down his face and leave bare paths through the glitter caked under his eyes. He drinks the water, though the bottle quivers in his hands. 

“I’m sorry,” Chris says, still in that tiny shadow of his normal voice, “I don’t…I don’t know-”

“It’s okay,” says Mark fiercely, “Hey, it’s okay. It’s me, you don’t have to apologize about this. Not to me.” 

Chris nods, just once. 

“I’m proud of you for safewording,” Mark says sincerely. 

And that sincerity must come through, because Chris starts crying harder. His poor baby, Mark thinks desperately, though in a very different way than he was using the pet name earlier. Chris is older than him, has been camming longer, and is all-around a more secure person, so seeing him this distraught is like an out-of-body experience.

“Do you want a hug?” Mark asks. 

He gets another nod in response. Mark wraps Chris up tight in his arms, holding him as close as he can while they’re both sitting upright. He can feel Chris’s jackhammer heartbeat against his own chest, and he squeezes him tight. 

Still, it seems like being close to Mark like this isn’t helping at all. Usually with sub drop, reassurance and aftercare from the dom in question can be helpful. But attention from Mark…isn’t really changing anything. That doesn’t stop Mark from trying, though, as he rubs Chris’s back and lets his friend cling to him. 

He wouldn’t let go, wouldn’t want to, except that Chris’s phone rings. Chris is still wavering in and out of perfect awareness, so Mark leans him back to sit on his own, and goes for the phone. 

It’s Matthew calling. 

“Hey,” Mark says breathlessly into the phone, “Hey, it’s me.” 

“Is he okay?” Matthew demands. 

“You were watching,” Mark realizes, relief that he doesn’t have to explain coursing through his veins, “Oh thank God. Yeah, he’s fine.” 

“What happened?” 

“Just sub drop,” Mark says. “I don’t know why, we hadn’t even really started the dom/sub stuff, but he-”

“Okay okay okay, shit,” Matthew cuts in, and it sounds like he’s calming himself down more than anything else. “I was worried it was something worse.” 

“I mean, this is pretty bad, but yeah. He’s safe, he’s not hurt. Just upset.”

Matthew makes a small sound of distress. “Can I come over?” 

“ _Yes,_ ” Mark says emphatically. “Yes, of course.” 

He thinks…he thinks this is what Chris needs. Mark doesn’t seem to be the partner that Chris needs reassurance from, and the only other partner he has right now is Matthew.

“And Mark, can-”

“Whatever it is, yes,” Mark interrupts, impatient, “Just come. I’ll leave the door open for you.” 

“Okay,” says Matthew again, “Okay. See you in fifteen, man.” 

He hangs up the call, and Mark turns his attention back to Chris. His friend has burrowed deeper into the hoodie, peering out at Mark. He looks like a little kid in a too-big hand-me-down coat, so small and uncertain.

“Let’s take you back to your room,” Mark says. 

Away from the lights and cameras, he doesn’t say, away from the makeshift set they’ve built around Mark’s bed. He gingerly helps Chris off the bed and only shaky legs, and leads him across the hall into his own room. 

Surrounded by his own stuff in his own space, Chris calms down, but only slightly. Mark’s heart breaks all over again as he sits Chris down on the edge of the bed and watches fresh tears break out, brimming in Chris’s wide, scared eyes. He looks sad, but mostly he looks humiliated.

“Hold on,” Mark says. 

He bolts back out of the room to unlock the front door for Matthew, running as fast as he can there and back. He doesn’t want to leave Chris alone, knows that the emotional drop will only be worse if he feels physically alone, too. 

Chris hasn’t moved at all when Mark gets back. He looks so pitiful, with his smeared glamour makeup and puffy eyes from crying. 

“Can I take your makeup off?” Mark asks. 

“It’s ruined anyway,” Chris says ruefully, the first coherent thing he’s said this whole time.

So Mark snatches a pack of makeup wipes from Chris’s dresser, and begins to carefully clean off the glitter and the black liner, keeping his touch gentle but consistent. He watches closely for any sign that Chris wants him to back off, but he doesn’t get it. On the contrary, Chris leans into his touch like an animal being petted. 

The repeated motion of it calms them both down, Mark thinks, as Chris gradually stops shaking quite so badly. Mark doesn’t even notice time passing until there’s a knock at the front door, the sharp sound echoing around the silent apartment. 

“That’s Matt,” Mark says. 

“Matt,” Chris repeats. 

As if to confirm it, the front door creaks open down the hall and around the corner, and Matthew’s voice spills in, loud as he yells into the house, “Hey guys? Coming in.” 

“In Chris’s room!” Mark calls back, as loud as he dares. 

It sounds like Matthew says something else, but Mark can’t hear well enough to discern what it is. He balls up the used wipes and throws them away, deeming Chris’s face as clean as it’s gonna get. After a second, Matthew appears in the open bedroom doorway. His face breaks into a sad kind of half-grin when he catches sight of them, miserable Chris and Mark doing his best.

“What happened, huh?” he says, in a voice softer and warmer than Mark has ever heard from him. 

Mark moves away from where he’s standing, right in front of Chris, and lets Matthew slide into his place instead. Matthew takes Chris and maneuvers him like he weighs nothing at all, and arranges the two of them so that Matthew’s on his back, with Chris mostly on top of him, Chris’s face buried in the crook of Matthew’s neck. 

The change is instantaneous. Chris is still upset, but his whole aura calms down as soon as he’s surrounded by Matthew. It almost makes Mark jealous – not jealous of Chris’s closeness to someone else, but jealous of their dynamic. It would be nice to have that kind of security, that instant calm and connection. Anyone would envy it.

Mark watches them settle down until he’s sure that everything is okay. He’s pretty sure, almost certain, now, that Chris’ sub drop happened because he was having sex with Mark, and not Matthew. Guilt? A feeling of betrayal? Something like that. His subconscious didn’t like it very much, and he shut right down.

It’s not quite logical, but then again, nothing about dom and sub drop or sexual feelings is logical. If it upset Chris, then it upset him, and later on when everyone is calm, they can talk and move past it, fix up whatever went wrong today.

Matthew gives him a gentle smile, and Mark nods back, and leaves the room. 

As Mark shuts the door behind him, he realizes that he’s been running on pure adrenaline this whole time. He realizes, because the adrenaline high drops right out from under him once he relaxes, and all of a sudden he feels woozy. That was…horrible. Terrible. Terrifying. Easily the scariest thing he’s ever had to deal with on his own. 

He doesn’t blame Chris, of course. It was an accident, just a bad combination of emotional things all at once, and it happens to lots of people in dom/sub situations at some point. But it was still awful. 

Mark staggers toward the kitchen again, intending to get himself some water, holding back his tears until he’s far enough away from Chris and Matthew to cry without being heard. But he doesn’t even make it to the kitchen. 

Because Johnny is in the foyer. 

He looks terrible. Mussed and sloppily dressed, like he rolled right out of bed and sprinted over here, and his face is twisted with panic. 

“What…” Mark breathes, barely believing his eyes, “Why…you…” 

“Thank _fuck_ ,” Johnny says, voice strangled with emotion. 

“Why are you here?” 

“I know,” Johnny says, talking very quickly as though he’s afraid Mark will cut him off, “I know I shouldn’t be here, Matthew told me not to come. But I begged him-”

“Johnny-”

But Johnny bowls right over his interruption and keeps talking, “I begged him to bring me. Yuta was watching Chris’s livestream so I watched with him and I saw – and I knew Matthew would come over to help Chris. And I knew, I knew-”

“Johnny, please,” Mark tries, but Johnny shakes his head. 

“No, no, I knew Matthew would come help Chris, and you don’t dom so you wouldn’t be ready for dom drop but it happens _all the time_ and Matthew…with Chris…and you…” 

“Seriously, what are you doing here?” Mark asks harshly, feeling his despair at the situation ready to boil over into fury.

“I had to come because I knew Matthew would get all wrapped up in Chris. And there’d be no one to help _you,_ ” Johnny says simply.

Mark…

Mark can’t believe what he’s hearing. 

He stands there, looking at Johnny. Johnny, in his apartment. 

Johnny who he hated so much that day, who he still hates a little, if he’s being honest. Johnny who humiliated him, who knew who he was and lied about it. Johnny who…saw that Mark was headed for an emotional drop and demanded to tag along and make sure he was okay? Who wanted to make sure, even though Chris was the one having trouble, that there was someone to check on Mark? Who wanted to _be_ the person to check on Mark?

“But you’re okay,” Johnny says, “You’re okay. I just had to see…I had to-”

He cuts himself off, as if he’s just now realizing what he’s doing, where he is. It’s clear that even though Johnny has nothing to do with Mark, he still feels…what, responsible? Concerned? He looks at Mark with a kind of wistful sadness that just about knocks Mark off his feet.

“I’ll go,” Johnny says. “I should go, I’m being stupid. I’m sorry for crossing a boundary you set and watching your stream even after you blocked me. That’s not cool of me, and I apologize.” 

Mark is shocked to see the barest hint of tears sparkling in Johnny’s eyes. Fear, Mark realizes, and sheer relief, on Mark’s behalf. And maybe a touch of something else, but Mark can’t decipher what. 

“But you’re okay, so I can go,” Johnny says. 

He turns around, the plastic slides on his feet squeaking against the tile of the foyer, and Johnny reaches for the doorknob to let himself out. 

To walk out, Mark realizes with a start, probably forever. 

“Tell Chris I’m glad – no,” Johnny smiles sidelong at Mark, “No, never mind. If I see you at JCC, I’ll keep my distance.” 

Maybe it’s the stress of what’s just happened, Mark’s nerves all on edge that makes him want to jump into action. Or maybe – and Mark has a sneaking suspicion this is really what’s going on – Mark doesn’t hate Johnny nearly as much as he thought he did. Feel duped by Johnny? Yes. Embarrassed? Yes. Justified in getting angry? Yes. 

But hatred… 

Mark isn’t a hateful person. He doesn’t want to be one. He can’t forgive Johnny right away, can’t search in the two of them for exactly what Chris and Matthew have, can’t try to grasp at that intimacy that made him so jealous…but letting Johnny go…

As the door swings shut, Mark bolts for it. 

Not even thinking about the very real possibility of the doorjamb snapping his wrist like a twig, Mark jams his hand into the narrowing gap, and grabs ahold of the outside doorknob, his hand covering Johnny’s bigger one. 

The door stops moving, and Johnny’s fingers tense beneath Mark’s. There are a few beats of still, strange silence, with Johnny outside the door and Mark inside with his arm bent awkwardly through the gap between. 

And then Mark finds himself saying, “I was really scared.” 

“I’m sure you were,” Johnny replies. 

“He’s my best friend, and I knew that…even though I didn’t upset him, I couldn’t make it better, either,” says Mark. 

“But you were there for him anyway. That’s what matters.” 

“I couldn’t help him, though. I could barely help myself.” 

Johnny makes a little noise in his throat. “You did a good job. Chris will tell you so, later.”

Did Mark do a good job? 

He doesn’t know. He might have. Does he ever do a good job?

Mark thinks about how badly he didn’t want to cry in front of Johnny, back at Johnny’s stupid millionaire house in the Hollywood Hills. How he wanted to save face, and leave with a little bit of his dignity intact. He wonders if that’s how Johnny feels right now. 

He tugs the door back open, letting Johnny’s hand fall away as the door swings inward. 

Johnny isn’t crying, on the other side. He’s just looking at Mark, his usually playful face calm and open and welcoming. Which is kind of a relief, because Mark is crying. 

“Johnny,” he says, doing his very best to sound normal even as desperate hot tears drip onto his shirt. 

“Yeah, Mark?” 

“I’ve had a very stressful night,” Mark announces. 

“I know you have,” Johnny says. 

“Can I have a hug?” 

Johnny’s smile might as well be the fucking sun coming up at 10PM, the way it seems to illuminate the tiny front porch. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” Johnny replies. 

He holds his arms open, and Mark runs into them, settling himself against Johnny’s big frame and clinging desperately to the back of his shirt with both hands as he sobs silently. Johnny doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. He just stands there, arms wrapped gently around Mark, being tall and warm and smelling nice and stroking little patterns against Mark’s skin. 

“That’s one side effect of me being really, really hopelessly in love with you,” Johnny says conversationally, into Mark’s hair. “I’m always here for you.” 

_In love?_

“You don’t have to respond to that,” Johnny says, almost as an afterthought. “And you definitely don’t have to say it back.”

“Thanks,” Mark says wetly. 

Johnny laughs. 

“You don’t have to forgive me, either,” he says. “That’s not what I came here for. I just thought you’d need some company tonight.” 

Mark feels a pang of very sincere hope in his chest. He knows he’s a headstrong person who can hold a grudge, but he also knows that he is in the right for his feelings toward Johnny. All of them, all at once. Johnny hurt his feelings. Johnny also made a concerted effort to make it better. 

That’s what matters in relationships, right? Not the fights, but the effort to change. The time and work to build something better when things break down.

“I can’t pretend that everything is okay. And I can’t…you should go, for tonight. But,” Mark shudders, trying to stop crying, “But I would be willing to…start over.” 

“ _What?_ ” Johnny asks, as if he can’t believe it. 

“Start over,” Mark repeats, “With some distance.” 

“Distance, huh,” Johnny hums. 

“Not as a camboy and a fan who met IRL. Just as Johnny and Mark,” says Mark softly. 

“That was always my intention, you know,” Johnny says. “Just Johnny and Mark.”

Mark breathes out a gentle laugh. “I think I could try.” 

“Couldn’t ask for anything better.”

~ 🍓 Chris 🍓 ~

Chris is an extravert. 

He’s never really thought about that before, but he is one. A super passionate extravert. That’s why his first response to the idea of Mark Lee both officially starting over with Johnny, and having a birthday, is to have a party. 

Not a house party. They get together at their apartment too much. But a beach party. They live in Orange County, for fuck’s sake, and it’s August now. Peak beach time. Not to mention how all of their friends are sexy as hell and deserve to hang out in public in swimsuits. 

It’s been four or five weeks since the disastrous collab night. It took some time for all the emotions to clear away, but that night actually turned out to be one of the best things to ever happen to them. 

Chris doesn’t remember too much. He can recall beginning to dissociate in the middle of the scene, and he clearly remembers Matthew coming over. He remembers Mark climbing into the bed with them after a while, his face all puffy and red from crying. Mark had cuddled up to Chris so that they were in a little sandwich, Matthew on one side and Mark on the other. 

They slept there like that, in a pile. Chris thinks it was the perfect choice, on Mark’s part, to invite Matthew but also to not distance himself. The sub drop came mostly from Chris’s own emotional constipation. He’s not a relationship person. Before Matthew, his last serious love interest was in his first year of college. Chris was afraid to commit to Matthew, and he didn’t even know it. 

So trying to fuck Mark, while wanting nothing more than to be exclusive with Matthew and not knowing how? Disaster zone. But Mark is smart, and he made the best choice, like he always does. Chris doesn’t think it would have been so easy to snap back to reality and realize what was wrong without _both_ Matthew and Mark there. 

But the real shock came the next day, when Mark logged back into Whiplash, intending to go live and briefly explain that they’re both okay. He opened the app, and yelled so loudly that Matthew and Chris both came running from the bedroom, worried that he was being straight-up murdered or something. 

__

_“Dude, I – the fans, I can’t fuckin’ believe – log on, log on, log on,” Mark sputters, eyes glued to his phone screen._

_So Chris trudges back to his bedroom for his phone, and goes onto the Whiplash app once he’s back in front of Mark. At first, he doesn’t see what the big deal is – no one is live, the website is still up, their videos are all still posted for viewing. Chris goes into his own profile, and that’s when he sees it._

_His pending payment balance is almost four thousand fucking dollars._

_“What?” Chris breathes, “WHAT?”_

_Mark turns his phone screen toward Chris, and his own balance is over six thousand. Six thousand dollars._

_Their account balances are made of donation money, and also channel subscription money, and both of their channels have skyrocketed up. They’re sandwiched at second and third most popular creators on Whiplash, right under partial site owner T.Y. Chris opens his dono box properly, and the top donation is $2,000 from T.Y. himself, with just a heart emoji as a note._

_“Did…did T.Y. send-”_

_“Yes,” Mark answers immediately, “Yes he did.”_

_“What happened?!”_

_Chris returns to that cut-off stream from the night before on his channel, and opens the comments section, searching for answers. There are thousands upon thousands of comments, more than he ever gets, and they all say similar things._

_@blackbinnie: **anyone who takes care of a sub like THAT, deserves the best and only the best** _

_@penuhhhhhiel: **you can tell they’re really best friends, look how cherry panicked <3 ** _

_@yuta_utah: **good sex is cool, but a good connection is so much better. fave fave fave fave**_

_“They liked that?” Chris yelps._

_“I guess…” Mark meets his eye, mystified, “I guess they did.”_

__

It’s not that their fans liked the scene, in particular. They obviously didn’t like that it was an attempt at a scene that crashed and burned. That’s not a good time for anyone, least of all the two camboys who had to deal with it in the moment.

But they went fucking rabid for the actual act of care, for the emotional closeness that led Mark to panic and stop the scene like he did when Chris was having trouble. The simple act of checking in, safewording, and stopping the scene is apparently so revolutionary in BDSM-style porn (which SUCKS, by the way) that their fans have sent in a combined ten thousand dollars to celebrate it and support them. 

T.Y., whose full name, Chris learns, is Taeyong, sends them a longer email later on, explaining that his donation was because of the way they exemplified the values of the kink community. That’s what it’s all about, Taeyong said. Safe, Sane, and Consensual. If you’re not looking out for your partner and keeping everything safe and fun, you’re not a kinkster, you’re a fucking asshole. It’s thanks-for-not-being-an-asshole money. 

They have so fucking much of it now, too, and so many subscribers that if they keep even half of this recent bump, it more than makes up for the loss of Johnny’s patronage.

Because Johnny isn’t sugar daddying them from afar, anymore. Mark kept him at arm’s length for a couple of weeks, while his feelings recovered and he decided what he wanted to do about their blossoming relationship. 

After many, many talks with Chris and literally everyone else they know, Mark decided to start over like he said he wanted to, that night. Start over, as if he was meeting Johnny all over again, and begin a relationship without all that miscommunication.

And now, they’re all here on the beach. Mark is being fireman-carried into the ocean by a tan, shirtless, very pleased Johnny while Lucas chases behind them. So Chris would say it’s going well between them. 

And besides, their friend group is _built_ for beach parties. 

Jamie and Ten look like goddamn print models, all beautiful bodies and tattoos, making heads snap in their direction as they hit a beach ball back and forth. Felix, Hyunjin, and for some reason also Jisung, all turned up in bikini bottoms instead of trunks. Definitely not Speedos. Soft, ruffled bikini bottoms, cheeky cut and daring. They all have on dewy, beautiful makeup, and they’re turning their share of heads, too.

Matthew lounges beside Chris on towels in the sand, sipping a hard cider, and Mark’s just been thrown bodily into the surf, sputtering and cursing while Johnny and Lucas double over laughing. Everything is perfect. 

They’ve snagged one of the fire pits on Corona Del Mar State Beach, and once the sun goes down, they’re gonna have a bonfire and roast marshmallows. It’s already almost twilight now. Best thing about California, Chris thinks, is that the sun sets over the ocean. Beach sunsets here are unparalleled. So beautiful. 

This is also a birthday party, though Mark doesn’t know it, because his birthday is tomorrow and he’s already going out with Johnny for his official birthday dinner. As if Chris would neglect to throw him a public and embarrassing group birthday party…the idea is laughable. Eric is bringing Ashley and a cake after they close down JCC for the evening. He’s on his way; Chris got a text about twenty minutes ago saying as much. 

Mark stumbles up to him, dripping seawater and sand from his impromptu swim. “I take it back. I don’t like Johnny anymore.” 

“Yes, you do,” Chris dismisses. 

“No, I don’t. I like Jamie now. I’m gonna go out with Jamie,” Mark says, glancing over where Jamie and Ten are starting to gather a small crowd of onlookers. 

“Good luck with that,” Matthew snorts. 

Johnny joins them, looking far too innocent for a guy who’s already on thin ice and has just thrown his crush into the ocean. “You can’t get rid of me. I’m like herpes.” 

Matthew chokes on his cider, and Johnny just beams. Chris just stares on, wondering, aside from his pretty face and huge dick, what exactly Mark sees in this guy. (He’s being dramatic. Johnny is smart and fun and looks at Mark like he hung the stars, and that’s enough for Chris.) 

“Go tell Jamie about your plans to go out with her,” Chris directs. “She could use the laugh.” 

“Fuck off,” Mark whines, and stalks over to the ogling session happening around their friends. 

Johnny sits right down in the sand beside Chris, seemingly not caring how the grains cling to his wet legs and swimsuit.

“I’m slightly worried,” he says to Chris conversationally. 

“Why?” Chris asked, amused. 

“Because Jamie probably knows her way around a strap well enough to put me to shame. I’m threatened,” says Johnny. 

Matthew laughs again, throwing his head back in pure joy, and Chris joins him, laughing so hard his voice breaks into gasps. 

“This is a real concern!” Johnny protests, the wide smile on his face betraying him. 

“Sure,” Chris placates, “Sure.”

True to his aggressively parental nature, Eric has impeccable timing, because while Mark’s down the beach arguing animatedly with Jamie and Ten, he arrives with one cake box and one Ashley Choi who’s dressed in a beautiful white sundress. 

“Hello, children,” Eric says, placing the cake on the folding table set by the edge of the fire pit. “Your hero has arrived.” 

“Thanks for picking it up,” says Chris gratefully, “I can’t hide shit from him. He’s like a little kid, looking for hidden Christmas presents.”

“You two are so married,” Eric says. 

“Hey!” Johnny protests, while Matthew sputters his own indignance. 

“They are,” says Eric, “Husbands. Live-in husbands.” 

“Mark _is_ my favorite,” Chris says, patting Matthew’s arm placatingly. 

“Alright, then get your favorite over here so we can do cake before it gets dark,” says Eric, “I have my own surprise, too.” 

Lucas, on his way back from the water, redirects obediently as he overhears them, and goes to corral the rest of their friends. When all twelve of them are there, in a loose circle around the unlit fire pit and the table with the cake, Eric looks around at them with a knowing glint in his eyes. 

“You’re gonna get distracted when the cake and booze comes out, so I wanna tell you two about my surprise before all that starts,” says Eric, pointing at Chris and Mark where they stand, shoulder to shoulder. 

“Cake?” says Mark eagerly. 

“Birthday cake,” says Johnny, nudging him. 

Mark blushes, his mouth falling open. “Hold up, is this a birthday thing?!” 

“It might be,” Lucas shrugs. 

“Come on!” Mark says, from behind mortified hands, “Oh come, on, you know I said you didn’t need to do anything!!” 

“Stop being a downer and let me tell you about your birthday present from your favorite friend Eric,” says Eric.

Ten glances across the circle at Eric. “That’s a bold claim to make.”

“Yeah, I’m obviously his favorite friend,” says Hyunjin. 

“Just let the man talk,” Ashley says, sharing an exasperated look with Eric.

Mark nods, encouraging him to go on, though his eyes are still wide and sparkling. Chris feels just as surprised as Mark looks. He has no idea what kind of gift Eric could have, especially one that includes Chris, too. 

“Well I know you were having some money troubles, and I told you before, you two are good kids who could do way better than porn,” Eric grins. 

“We like camming but go on,” says Chris. 

“And you leave your song files around all the time for us to work on, I have tons of your masters.” 

“Do you not delete those after we’re done?” Mark asks. 

Eric shakes his head. “Hell no. Your stuff is good, I hold onto it.”

“Your folder on our data server? Huge,” Ashley adds. 

“So I sent some of your raw stuff to this singer I know, he’s also a songwriter and a really genius lyricist. His name’s Younghyun. He likes your work. A lot. If you want, I can hook you up with him. And your stuff will be released,” Eric says, nonchalant. 

“Released?” Chris echoes. 

“In Korea.” 

“Are you serious?” asks Mark, going pale. 

“Yeah,” Eric nods, “Younghyunnie works for one of the Big 3 music companies in Seoul, his management already offered a cash advance to use your demos on his group’s new album. If that’s okay.” 

“That’s more than okay,” says Mark, “That’s fucking fantastic!” 

“Songwriters,” Chris says, gripping Mark’s wrist tightly, “We’re gonna be songwriters?” 

“And producers,” Eric adds lightly, “And I’m sure I could convince Younghyun to let you do backing vocals and stuff.” 

Mark looks like he might keel over backwards, and Chris can relate. 

“How did you _do_ this?” Chris asks. 

Eric blinks, like it’s a stupid question. “You think Eric Nam wouldn’t have some industry connections?” 

“What?” 

“Eric…Eric Nam. That’s my name,” Eric repeats himself. 

“Yeah, we know that,” says Matthew. 

“I’m a k-pop singer.” 

“Excuse me?” says Johnny. 

“You’re not serious…yeah, dude, I’ve been a singer since like 2011,” Eric insists. 

“No fucking way. If you were in k-pop, then why would you be here?” Mark dismisses. 

“I came home to the States last year to hang out and record my English album. I got the part time work to pay rent cuz I’m not MC-ing. I got bored,” Eric says, “You…you’ve really never heard of me?” 

“I don’t think so,” says Chris. 

But he thinks back to the times that Eric has done vocals for their tracks, his fantastic voice and non-threatening wholesome good looks, and the times that Chris and Matthew have joked about Eric having a real music career. Were they…right, all along?

“Do you – do you – do you not know anything?!” Eric sputters, shocked, “2016 GQ Korea Man of the Year? Forbes Asia 30 Under 30?!” 

“ _You?_ ” Ashley asks in disbelief. 

“ _Yes!_ ” 

“What the hell?” Johnny mutters, looking around the circle. 

“Oh my god! Eric Nam!” Eric says desperately. “I’m – you know what, no. Whatever. Whatever! It doesn’t matter.” 

“Well,” says Johnny, with some finality, “That’s settled. So now we can do the two more important things: eat cake and get drunk.” 

“I’m ready to get drunk,” Ten agrees. 

Chris nods, stretching his arms above his head. “Can’t wait to get really plastered and forget this whole night.”

“I can’t get too drunk, though,” Mark warns. “I have important things to do tomorrow.” 

“Like what, birthday boy?” Chris asks, knowing that Mark has dinner plans but besides that, nothing at all. 

Mark shrugs, self-important and careless at the same time. “I dunno. Like grocery shopping.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are very very appreciated, even if it's just incoherent screaming. Actually, those are the best kinds of comments. Thanks again for reading, everyone. Love you lots~


	4. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _keep on, keep on, keep on telling me I'm what you need, like getaway green_

~ 🍒 Mark 🍒 ~

It’s a strange but not unexpected group of them, on a video call from various corners of the OC. Ten, Ashley, Jamie, Hyunjin, their new camboy friend Taeyong, and Johnny’s college friend Yuta lounge in their little boxes, in bedrooms and at dining tables. It took an annoying amount of time to get everyone in frame and in focus and not muted, but they’re ready. 

Except Mark totally isn’t ready and doesn’t think he could ever be ready. 

They’re on the call to watch a very special Whiplash broadcast together. Chris and Mark are on the floor in their living room, pressed shoulder to shoulder in front of Chris’s laptop on the coffee table. They made a pinkie-promise not to jerk off here in their mutual space, to save it for later. Just cuz they’ve seen and touched each other’s dicks many times before doesn’t mean they need to be doing it now, in their goddamn living room. Mark isn’t sure if Chris will be able to stick to that, since he’s already practically vibrating on the spot with excitement. 

“What’s taking them so long?” Chris whines. 

Mark grins sidelong at him. “It’s been like twenty minutes.” 

“That’s too long!”

“They’re probably nervous,” Mark replies. 

“Not even, they’ve been preparing for this for months.” 

“It’s different when the camera is on,” says Mark, “Don’t worry. If they’re really getting cold feet they’ll come out here.” 

“Give them time,” agrees Taeyong, over the call, his voice distorted from the connection. 

Taeyong. Mark’s glad that he’s here with them. His gentle logic and warm, open demeanor are a breath of fresh air in their group of big personalities and intense vibes. 

If Mark had thought their friend group was huge back in August, over the summer and his birthday (that impromptu beach party still makes him squirm with equal parts embarrassment and delight), he was sadly mistaken. The circle just keeps fucking growing. Taeyong inserted himself into it somehow, following the rabid success of both Mark’s and Chris’s channels; he just started emailing and messaging them and never stopped. Johnny’s old friends Yuta and Jaehyun came to Felix and Jisung’s joint birthday party at Johnny’s house in September, and they’ve also stuck around. 

Jisung’s ex Changbin…Ashley and Matthew’s friend Peniel…Eric’s old coworker Amber…Jamie’s college roommate and Matthew’s ex-girlfriend (unbeknownst to both of them) Jiwoo…Ten’s college fraternity little Yangyang…Mark and Chris’s industry contact in Korea, Younghyun, who turned out to actually be an English-speaker from Canada named Brian…

There’s gotta be thirty or forty fucking people in their extended circle, now. It’s insane. 

They haven’t had a social event yet where everyone was present, which is a good thing. The sheer weight of all that ego would collapse the fucking universe. Black hole, all because thirty Asian-American gays couldn’t keep it together. 

“Ash, I can’t believe you came for this,” Ten says mildly. 

He’s lounging on his couch, his entire lithe form on display, as he fixes them with a smirk. Displeased, Ashley pouts into her camera, brushing her newly-colored green hair behind one ear. 

“I’m a Scorpio, I have intense sexual energy!” she insists. 

“You’re the sweetest cupcake of a person I’ve ever met,” Ten replies. “And I’ve been friends with Mark Lee for like six years.” 

Hyunjin shrugs, one cheek squishing into his hand where he’s propping his face up. “I dunno, I can’t see why _anyone_ would wanna miss this. I mean…” 

“I know,” says Yuta, his long red hair a distracting streak in the corner of the screen as he nods. “I kinda can’t believe it.” 

Jamie hums her agreement, “Because Johnny is so…” 

“And Matthew is, like…” Ten trails off, grinning. 

“I’m sorry Lucas and ‘Lix are missing this,” says Hyunjin. 

“I’m not,” says Mark, “They’re probably watching anyway.” 

“They’re gonna follow along and act out everything they see. I’d bet five bucks on that,” says Jamie. 

“I’d bet twenty,” says Chris, grimacing at the mental image of it. 

Taeyong grins his soft, catlike smile and leans in closer to the camera. “That reminds me, keep to our agreement, guys. Anyone who’s caught getting off during the call has to Venmo everyone else ten bucks apiece.” 

“That’s seventy bucks down the drain just for jackin’ it. So control yourselves,” says Yuta, amused. 

It’s an emotional trauma reparation, and it had been Hyunjin’s idea after Chris and Mark made their own pinkie-promise oath. They all know what they’re getting into, but nobody (except maybe Hyunjin himself…) wants to see all their close friends up in their own junk during a purely professional interest video call. 

Purely professional interest. That’s what Mark keeps telling himself. It’s not true, but he keeps telling himself. 

“Did Eric just ignore our invite?” Hyunjin wonders out loud. 

Ashley shakes her head. “He said he would, and I quote, ‘literally rather drink laundry detergent’ than be here to see this.” 

“That can be arranged,” says Jamie. 

“You can’t poison him,” Chris tells her, “He’s my only link to Brian and I need that.” 

Yuta snaps his fingers, pointing into the camera, “Aren’t you guys up for some award?” 

“Some awards show in Korea,” Mark confirms, “I’ve never heard of it but I guess it’s a big deal. We’re up for a songwriter thing.”

“What’s it called?” asks Hyunjin. 

“Melon Music Awards.” 

“Yeah, no idea,” Hyunjin cedes. 

Mark’s honored, of course. Whether he’s familiar with the platform or not, an award is an award, and he and Chris are nominated for the song they wrote for Brian and his band. But Mark’s brain isn’t really focused on music at the moment.

When his own Whiplash channel goes live, sending a push notification to Chris’s laptop screen, Mark yells so loudly that Chris actually clamps a hand over his mouth to shut him up. A second notif from Chris’s channel going live follows right after.

“Oh, it’s go-time!” Ten says, delighted. 

There’s a cacophony of clicks and little noises of anticipation, as everyone opens at least one of the livestreams, and settles in for what will definitely be an interesting group experience. 

Mark isn’t sure what he’s expecting, but…it isn’t this. 

Matthew is right up in the camera, shirtless and casual, as he adjusts the angle. He’s grinning like a shark, all predatory, like he knows exactly how good he looks. And he does look good, Mark can admire that. All muscles and slicked-back white-blonde hair and tattoos…it’s a lot. 

Beside Mark, Chris lets out a little squeak, like an animal having its tail stepped on. 

Matthew finishes fixing the phone on its tripod, and moves over, presumably to fix the phone streaming to Chris’s channel. And that’s when Mark knows he’s fucked, because now he can see Johnny too. Johnny is also shirtless, also all muscles and tattoos, and _fuck_ is it thrilling to see him there, on the bed, lounging tall and broad and tanned against Mark’s favorite pillow and waiting for somebody else. 

Because of course, they’re in Mark’s room. Mark and Chris weren’t about to let them run off somewhere and do this, fuck no. They’re doing it ten yards away, in Mark’s room. 

“How did you two tiny little twinks manage to snag the tallest, broadest, biggest men in the entire county?” asks Ten, though his eyes are still trained on the stream. 

“The power of prayer,” Chris replies, similarly distracted. 

“You’re not religious,” Jamie points out. 

“Who said that I’m praying to God?” 

It’s then that Mark notices what’s happened to Johnny. He’s covered in tiny marks, bruises purplish against his rich skin. Some of them look like fingers, like a grip that was just a little too tight around the soft skin of his waist. And some are the rough oblong shape of a mouth, hickeys nibbled along his neck and collarbones. 

Those two were going at it before the cameras were even on. 

“They didn’t,” Mark gasps. 

“They _did_ ,” Hyunjin replies, “Oh my…” 

“Suddenly seventy bucks doesn’t seem like a bad forfeit,” says Ten appreciatively.

Taeyong laughs, “You can’t break this fast!”

“Watch me.” 

Ten doesn’t break, not yet, but Mark can relate to his stunned arousal. Mark was an essential part of the planning for this stream, but he kind of can’t believe that it’s really happening. 

“You should’ve had this idea a long time ago,” says Jamie, “They actually look like real pornstars.” 

“Hey!” Chris protests, while Mark sputters his own disbelief, “We will not be disrespected like this in our own home. We _are_ real pornstars. Fucking bitch.”

“Not like these two,” Jamie says, and her grin betrays that she’s just being contrary for the drama of it all. 

“We set up this fantastic entertainment for you all, and this is how you repay us?” Mark complains. 

“Shut the fuck up, we’re gonna miss it!” says Yuta. 

“How fast d’you think they’re gonna be?” asks Ashley, grinning. 

“Premature ejaculation is nothing to joke about,” Yuta replies. 

In her little video chat square, Jamie tosses her hair. “You’re saying that it’s not kinda hot when you can make someone bust it really fast?” 

“What’s that Megan Thee Stallion lyric?” Ashley asks, brow furrowed as she thinks about it. 

“ _I can make ya bust before I ever meet ya,_ ” Ten and Taeyong sing in tandem. 

“Yeah, that, see, that’s peak living,” Jamie agrees. 

“How do any of you have the mental capacity for jokes right now?” Mark asks, his voice strained as he watches Chris’s boyfriend climb on top of _his_ boyfriend and – 

He can’t even finish processing it. Those are Matthew’s hands, on Johnny’s pecs – Jesus. 

And then Mark realizes that they’re _talking._

“-Should prolly start now,” Matthew is saying wryly, glancing back at the two phones streaming them, “We got a lot of people watching. Y’all nasty.” 

His deep voice and his tone, half-teasing and half-mocking, punches Mark right in the submissive zone and he pouts, looking at Chris in disbelief. 

“You can’t expect people not to watch,” Johnny counters, his own voice low and dangerous. “Look at you.” 

“Look at _you,_ ” Matthew throws right back. 

“You’re right,” Johnny grins, “Plenty to see.” 

As if to prove his point, Johnny reaches out and grabs Matthew’s joggers at the waistband, tugging them down to reveal an impressive half-hard cock. Mark could have guessed what Matthew was working with, but he’s never seen it, and he takes a second to appreciate the view. 

“Damn,” he mutters to Chris. 

“I know,” Chris replies, hoarse.

Johnny pushes Matthew off and moves to take off his own basketball shorts, and Mark has to suppress an actual whine. He deserves a fucking award, just sitting here watching while _that_ is going on right down the hall. 

“This isn’t weird?” Matthew asks Johnny, a picture of nonchalance, lounging back on one elbow, stroking himself slowly. 

“Nah, but…” says Johnny, turning to look right into the camera, “But I bet that Cherry and Berry wish they were here right now, huh?” 

And that, that’s just not fair. 

Mark looks at Chris desperately, and he sees a glint in his best friend’s eye that he recognizes immediately. That’s the expression of someone about to make a questionable decision, someone ready to say ‘fuck it all’ and run headlong into some antics. 

Unfortunately, everyone else notices too, and the call erupts into arguing. 

“Don’t you _dare!_ ” Ten yowls, getting right up close to his webcam like he’s gonna lean through the screen and throttle Chris himself. 

“You’re gonna ruin it!” Ashley wails. 

Taeyong just shrugs innocently. “It _is_ their house. If they really want to…”

Chris turns around fully, facing Mark so that they can communicate silently. Mark can feel all their friends’ eyes on them, disapproving and curious. It’ll ruin the collab that they’ve been planning for weeks. It’ll turn everything into a big mess. But…

Mark nods. Chris nods. 

And they stand up together and run as fast as their legs will take them, all the way to Mark’s room, and slam the door behind them.


End file.
